


Boy with a Diamond Pendant

by Gilli_ann



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, Angst with a Happy Ending, Consensual Underage Sex, F/M, Half-Sibling Incest, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by Art, Jewelry, M/M, Magic, Minor Character Death, Painting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-10
Updated: 2013-10-10
Packaged: 2017-12-28 12:30:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 43,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/992022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gilli_ann/pseuds/Gilli_ann
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Due to unhappy family circumstances, young Merlin has to move to the city of Camelot and enter into the service of celebrated and enigmatic painter Arthur Pendragon. His time as a servant in the Pendragon mansion is filled with hard work, heartache, mystery and dangers, but also with friendship and love. When Merlin's talents and powers ultimately become clear, his destiny will affect everyone in the Pendragon household. (A Merlin AU fic written for the Reel_Merlin "Take 6" fest, and inspired by the movie Girl with a Pearl Earring).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Boy with a Diamond Pendant

**Author's Note:**

> **Thank you!**  
>  Thank you to my encouraging and positive cheerleaders, Gwylliondream and Gibbous_moon. This fic would never have been finished without you. Thank you to my thorough beta, Stagarden, whose dedicated work helped improve my writing considerably. And thank you to Colacube for hosting and organizing Reel_Merlin!
> 
>  **Comment to the underage/age difference warnings:** Merlin is 16 and Arthur is 26 when they meet for the first time. The story covers some time, and the underage content warning applies only for places where the age of consent is 17/18.
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** The BBC Merlin's version of the Arthurian legends is the property of BBC and Shine. “Girl with a Pearl Earring” is the property of Tracy Chevalier and Lions Gate Films. I intend no disrespect nor copyright infringement, and I make no profit from this.
> 
> This story is authorised for AO3 only. It is not to be copied or used elsewhere without my explicit written permission.

  


  


**  
Boy with a Diamond Pendant  
**

  


**Prologue - the dragon guardian**

Merlin grew up among gemstones and dancing dragons. 

The jewels were semi-precious at best and mostly made of glass and ceramic, and the dragons only reared and soared on the beautiful mosaics Merlin's father made for a living. But little Merlin's world was full of light and sparkle, dazzling colours and amazing fairytale creatures, and he was happy. Happy and safe in the knowledge of his parents' love for him and for each other. 

Hunith, his mother, kept their little cottage homely and snug. She had a vegetable garden, kept a very fine herb garden besides, and a cow so that there would always be fresh milk. She scolded Merlin when he was a rascal, and comforted him when he cried, and sang lullabies to him in the evenings. She had kind eyes and warm, capable hands, a beautiful voice and a gentle smile, and Merlin adored her with a love almost too big for his little heart.

Balinor, Merlin's father, was famed as the best craftsman in Ealdor. The village was located next to natural clay deposits and had long been renowned for the manufacture of quality bespoke pottery, tiles and mosaic artworks. Wealthy merchants and burghers, and sometimes even Lords of the land, would send orders from far away to Balinor's workshop in order to secure his services in decorating their stately homes. 

Intricate dragon mosaics were his father's speciality, and little Merlin never tired of watching the fabled creatures emerging from chaos as Balinor worked on piecing together thousands of tiny tesserae into one bright and glorious whole. On mantle-pieces, wall covers, floor insets and folding screens the legendary dragons would come alive, writhing sinuously, resplendent with glittering scales in red and gold and blue and purple, eyes of shimmering green, and fangs and claws of the darkest jet.

One of Balinor's very finest works was the gift he made for his infant son - a disc edged in gilt bronze, of a size to fit the palm of Hunith's hand. At first it dangled protectively over the boy's crib. Tiny, tiny gemstones and pieces of the finest coloured glass had been set with infinite care to form a red-gold dappled dragon. Its eyes were blazing and all its glorious limbs thrown wide as if it were dancing or fighting. Crimson flames erupted from its open maw to create a border for the medallion, a ring of fire circling the magnificent being. 

“That dragon's been your steadfast guardian from the first, keeping you from harm with his spirit of fire and light,” Balinor laughed at the boy. Merlin was old enough then to toddle into the workshop on his own unsteady legs, upsetting a tray of glass beads. “And it worked, too, for here you are, healthy and strong and a real nuisance!” 

Merlin cherished his fire-dragon protector and always kept the medallion near, sometimes holding it up very close to his face, scrunching up his nose and squinting at the dragon earnestly. Then he would imagine that the dragon had come alive to slither like a magical lizard in a circle, round and round.

“Kilgharrah,” Merlin named it, not minding that his parents laughed at first when he tried to pronounce the difficult word. It meant “Fierce one” in the ancient tongue. The boy never wondered how he knew that, – he just did. 

As he grew older and turned into a reed-thin boy with knobbly knees and long limbs, his father began to let Merlin try his own hands with the tesserae, making small mosaics of his own. Balinor taught him what to do, explaining in a low voice before demonstrating his craft, how he made and transferred the patterns, how he prepared the gypsum or mortar settings that would hold the new mosaics. Merlin touched each piece of glass and stone carefully, nearly reverently, marvelling at the texture and the colours. His little body came alive with joy as his slim fingers hovered in the air, ready to chose just the right one from among the many bright and beautiful pieces. 

Merlin liked the translucent ones best, those that looked most like shimmering jewels. His eyes were always drawn to bright objects. He loved the pieces that let the light through and fractured it to send forth tiny rainbows, or seemed to glow with a radiance of their own. 

Light was a mystery, and its secrets fascinated Merlin from the first.

Hunith sometimes came to the workshop at the back of their modest cottage to watch the two dark heads, one small and one big, bent intently over their work by the work bench in front of the windows that let bright daylight in. 

One day she watched as Merlin picked a small blue piece of glass, his tongue peeking out of the corner of his mouth as he concentrated on placing it exactly where he wanted it. Merlin was staring at the piece he was holding between forefinger and thumb. Neither her husband nor the boy heard Hunith's soft startled gasp as Merlin's blue eyes turned golden for a moment, and the piece of glass briefly glowed with a strange light all its own. 

Clapping her hands over her mouth, Hunith retreated into the cottage and sank down by the hearth, overwhelmed with worry and wonder. 

Her son had the Gift of Light. Most considered that Gift a curse, because it was said to become ungovernable and dangerous in grown men and women. She had never imagined she would encounter a light-mage in her life, much less have one for her son!

Hunith didn't know much about the Gift. Certainly not enough to pluck nuggets of truth from all the legends and ancient tales and the jumble of wild imaginings they inspired. But she knew two things for sure: She loved her son. And those with the Gift could be hunted, banished or executed, at the order of the Lords of the land. 

They would have to be careful.

In her heart she had sensed that her son was special, and now she knew how. She hoped his Gift could be controlled or subdued. She would have to look out for him and guard against suspicious stares, fight for him if need be. She'd do all that and more, till he was ready to determine his own way in life. 

She would keep this secret. No-one must ever know about Merlin's Gift. 

 

**1\. A change of fortune**

As fate would have it, Merlin had to make his own way in life before he was fully grown. 

Misfortune fell on his little family. 

Shortly before Merlin turned fourteen, Balinor bought a large shipment of especially fine and valuable precious stones from a foreign trader. He had to borrow money to pay for the shipment, but he was secure in his position as a renowned craftsman, and certain that he would continue to command even better fees with the gems set in his mosaics. 

But the stones proved to be flawed and too easily fractured. By then the trader was long gone. Only the debts remained. 

Balinor strove to make ends meet. Ever a proud man, he was determined to repay his debts and to keep his good standing in their community and among his customers. He worked day and night, straining his eyes for long periods in poor light, and his eyesight began to deteriorate. He grew short-tempered, flaring up at the least little thing, and started keeping both his wife and son at a distance. 

Returning to the cottage one late night after many frustrating and wearying hours, he stumbled across the threshold and fell towards the fireplace, instinctively fending off the fall with his hands, his palms landing forcefully on the banked embers. This was the last straw. Though the village healer did what she could, and Hunith used all her skills and her very best herbs to soothe and heal Balinor's burns, from that time on his hands were stiff and unwieldy, the melted and fused skin on the underside of each finger joint like a permanent shackle. 

No craftsman could manage the art mosaic trade with clumsy fingers and clouded eyesight. Balinor had to admit defeat. He retreated into himself. Brooding, he hardly spoke a word to Hunith or Merlin, and disregarded their attempts to cheer him up. He would rarely go outside for the villagers to see him. Increasingly unkempt, he huddled in the shadows, cowed by sorrow, bitterness and shame.

Merlin was still far too young and untrained to take up his father's craft. He didn't have a name among rich patrons, and he had neither the finances nor the good will to secure high quality raw materials. He might have become an apprentice with another mosaic master, but apprentices did not earn money, only their upkeep. 

He spent more than a year helping his mother with the herb garden so she could increase her sales at the market, and did chores around the village for pennies when he could. Though he still looked lean, even slender, he grew strong and wiry. The work he could get at farms and in workshops was hard. 

Balinor's remaining debts weighed heavily on their little family. There just wasn't enough money. 

They sold the cow and the workshop tools, and cut back on their food. It didn't cover the debt. At her wit's end as a new summer drew to its close and cold, hungry winter was approaching, Hunith had a letter drawn up and sent to an old apothecary in the capital, Gaius. He was a kindly man who had passed through Ealdor many years ago, - the only visitor to show a keener interest in her herb garden than in Balinor's art. She had counted him a friend since then. Over the years she had regularly sent him herbs from her garden, though the trade route was long and not always dependable. 

When she heard back from Gaius, it was good news, and bad. There was a position in the capital that Merlin might have, as the servant of a man of independent means and carrying the family name of one of the noblest Houses. The requirements of the position were somewhat unusual, and the hours of work would be long, but Gaius thought that young Merlin would be right for the place, if he was anything like his mother. And the pay would be better than any common servant's. He had already put in a word with the lord. The sooner Merlin presented himself in the capital, the better his chances would be. Gaius promised to look after the boy, and to send Hunith news of him when he could. 

That was all good. But she would lose her son to a big, unknown and possibly dangerous place, far away. 

Hunith told Merlin the news with a heavy heart. He listened intently, never once interrupting her. He'd grown very quiet lately, his bright smile gone, his gaze turning inward. It worried her. They would sit side by side in the evenings, drinking the tea she had made, hardly speaking a word. Maybe, she told herself, it would be better for Merlin to meet new people, see new places, and experience the marvels and excitement of the big city. He was too lonely in Ealdor. Even his one good friend, that scamp Will, was rarely to be seen after he had been apprenticed to the miller. 

Although she had seen few further signs of it, the Gift of Light was hiding in the depths of her son's blue eyes, biding its time. It might flare up any day. She was not certain whether Merlin was aware of it, or what it felt like. He had never said a word or made the tiniest conscious gesture. Still, if his powers ever manifested fully, surely he would be safer as one insignificant person among many than as a worker in a small village, where everyone had their nose in the neighbours' business. In the big city he could lose himself in the crowd.

She held Merlin's hand, squeezed, it, and did her best to manage the old, carefree smile. Her face was stiff. “Maybe it all is for the best. Surely there is a brighter future for you in Camelot the Great,” she said. “Gaius is a good man. He'll help you when you need it. You'll be fine.” 

She drew a deep breath. “And there's no denying the money will help your father and me.” 

Merlin looked into her eyes, his face serious. “I'll travel at once, mother,” was all he said, reaching out a gentle finger to catch the traitorous tear that was making its way down her cheek. 

He told his father of his plans too, speaking in a quiet, calm voice so as to not distress the broken man. Balinor looked past him with an indifferent stare. His eyes were dull and lifeless now. Once they used to sparkle from joy and visions of beauty. Only at the very end did Balinor seem to return to himself for a moment to wish Merlin a quiet “goodbye and good luck”. 

The very next morning Merlin hugged his mother goodbye, and they held each other close for a long time. He was taller than her now. She had become thin and frail, her laughter and songs lost to hard work and eternal worry. 

She watched him disappearing down the dusty road, walking along at a brisk pace and with a spring in his step, the hopefulness of youth shining through. Merlin had not been cowed. 

Hunith lifted her hand in a silent farewell and blessing, and did not return to the quiet house till long after her son was out of sight. 

 

**2\. The bright city**

“Hey boy, wake up!” 

Merlin felt something poking his ribs and sat up, groaning. He lifted his head and stared blearily out over the cart's backboard. 

The long and dusty road stretched out behind them for as far as he could see, but they were moving through a wooded stretch where aspens and birches lined the road on both sides, yellow and fading now that summer was over. 

Merlin tried to ease his stiff limbs and ease the crick in his neck, rolling his shoulders. The odour of cabbage was all around him. After several days' weary walk and sleep snatched while rolled in a blanket near the roadside, he had been given a ride with a farmer carting his village's late-harvested vegetables to market. He had promised to help unload the cart and set up the farmer's stall at the market in return. Matthew, the man was called, though he had insisted on Merlin calling him Matt. It had immediately set Merlin at ease. There wasn't much of a resemblance between this ageing farmer and dour and reliable Matthew back home in Ealdor, but still it felt a little less lonely, a little more like home. Hearing the man natter on about the harvest and the state of the road, his joint ailments and his extended family, Merlin relaxed. He happily contributed an interested mm-hmmm or a nod every now and then, till sleep overtook him. 

There was movement on the road behind them and in front, other carts and riders, people trudging along the side of the road. There was the noise of voices, of horses trotting briskly, and the rumble of heavy carriage wheels. 

“We're nearly there. How can you sleep? ” Matt the farmer grumbled. “Gods, to be young and carefree again!”

He waved his hand, indicating the general direction. “Once we're clear of this copse we'll see Camelot in the distance. The city of cities, they call her. A fairytale place. And it's true enough that she still looks grand, although not as fine as when I was a lad.”

Merlin got up on his knees and braced his hands on the plank serving as the cart's seat. His bottom was still sore from all the jolting it had endured, and he was in no great hurry to crawl back up next to Matt. 

The cart cleared the turn and the trees opened up. Merlin looked out in front, across the ambling rump of the donkey pulling the cart. All at once a gust of chill wind carried a new smell to his nostrils, sharp and strange and intense. He wrinkled his nose in confusion, breathing in deeply, trying to make sense of it. Suddenly it was everywhere.

The farmer chortled, pleased. “You're sniffing the air like a lord's hound hunting a fox in a field!” 

He reached over to clap Merlin on the back with a heavy hand. “It's the sea you're smelling, lad. The wide salt waters. Camelot lies on the river and it is only a league or so down to the sea. The biggest vessels sail the river right on up to the city. Almost like villages on the water. Villages on washing day. There are many great flapping sheets for sails, and lots of colours, and people.”

“Oh,” said Merlin, impressed. The sea! The mighty river! Soon he'd be seeing it all with his own eyes. 

His eyes grew wider at the sights that now opened up in front of them. Tall grey walls, rows upon rows of gabled houses, magnificent broad towers and spires, one behind the other, and colourful flags flying from many poles. He couldn't even count them all, and in his excitement he paid no heed to the tattered state of many of the standards flying. 

They were approaching something that simultaneously resembled a man-made magic mountain and an oversized anthill, bustling with life and movement. 

Merlin was amazed. He'd never imagined Camelot to be this large, this overwhelming. As the cart rattled across a wooden bridge and through the big and daunting city gates, Merlin stared hungrily right and left, trying to gather as many impressions as possible. 

The road from the gate was cobbled. The gate guards had shiny metal helmets and flowing crimson cloaks. There were sheep being herded alongside the road, several donkey carts like theirs, and carriages pulled by beautiful horses. From somewhere near the gates there was the distinct clanging of hammers on iron. People in the street seemed well clad, much better than in Ealdor. Women in strange, wide hats and coifs walked along carrying covered baskets. There were soldiers with bright lances and swords at their sides, and burghers with elaborate cloaks and distracted expressions. The sleeves of their velvet overcoats looked as big as hams. Hawkers cried out their wares by the curb. Children and dogs ran in the road, and pretty red-cheeked ladies in low-cut dresses peeked out of doorways down a side alley. A few of them had sweeping feathers in their hair, attached with something that glittered like big gemstones. Merlin longed for a closer look, but soon averted his gaze. He had a feeling Hunith would not approve of him staring their way.

To his eyes and ears the city seemed enormous, with more people and more noise than he had imagined the whole world could hold. He made an effort not to gape at it all. He didn't want to react like the village simpleton he very much felt himself to be during that first hour in Camelot. 

The sun glinted from the many fine windows set in stone walls, rich with ornamentation, and in wooden walls painted every bright colour of the rainbow. Reflected light shimmered from golden spires and glazed roofs, and glittered in ponds and canals. It felt to Merlin as if Matt's cart was surrounded by a radiant halo. If some colours were faded, if a number of windows were cracked or tiles broken, light nevertheless was everywhere. 

Merlin's hand crept under his worn tunic and sought Kilgharrah. His fire-dragon protector would like it here, with such blazing brightness all around. That was a comforting thought. Where Kilgharrah felt at home, Merlin was sure he could learn to thrive. 

Still, his wildest imaginings and his mother's fairy tales hadn't prepared him for the reality of this city. He had entered another world, with new and incredible sights and sounds and scents, and he was enthralled.

But where the light shines the strongest, shadows may fall even darker. The cart rolled with a clatter across a new bridge, and Merlin could see sluggish black water moving below. There was a rank, stale smell. Suddenly, a frisson passed through him. A premonition, perhaps – an indication that all was not well in Camelot - but gone before he could hold the feeling fast and make sense of it. He clutched Kilgharrah once more for luck.

“Augh, that is vile!” Matt exclaimed, fanning himself with one hand. “Decay and death! No other city has so many waterways, they say, but some of the canals here are backwaters now, full of sewage, rot and dirt. Witches' brew! No, give me the honest smell of pigs' dung any day!” 

Merlin had covered his nose with both hands, and found no words in reply. He nodded. 

The stench was soon forgotten, for the bustling marketplace offered yet another wondrous and overwhelming experience to a village boy. The variation and abundance of goods on sale that Merlin glimpsed from the wagon made his head spin. In the section where vegetables and greens were on offer he helped unload the cart as promised, and arranged the cabbages separately in a bin under a tarp while Matt set up his sales booth. The air was chilly enough that his vegetables would keep for some days. Matthew would not be returning home until he had sold it all. He would sleep in the cart if need be, guarding his wares - although he would be sampling the tavern ales, he admitted sheepishly. Hauling greens across the land was thirsty business. 

“Remember, there are thieves and gamblers everywhere in a place like this!” he said, pointing at Merlin. “Not all those who seem friendly are honest. Innocents from the countryside are easy prey. Don't let yourself be fooled.”

Merlin shook his head. “I don't have anything worth stealing,” he lied. “I don't own anything more than the clothes on my back, and when I start earning wages they are going back to my mum. I think I'll be safe enough.” 

“Well, see that you are,” the farmer said gruffly, but he shook Merlin's hand in a good-natured farewell and took care to explain the shortest way to Apothecary street. 

Merlin felt his heart beat nervously as he left the only person he knew in this bewildering bright maze. But the apothecary shop he sought was situated on a street near the marketplace, and finding Gaius proved easy. The first person Merlin asked pointed out his shop. 

A small bell tinkled as Merlin opened the door on the ground floor. He stepped inside, looking around in the shop's dim interior and at the loftily arched ceiling. There were no customers, and no-one behind the counter, but there were bottles and boxes and bundles of herbs stacked everywhere. 

Merlin looked around curiously for a little while, waiting. Surely the bell had alerted Gaius to his presence? A sharp but sweet fragrance of medicinal herbs lingered in the air. He recognized the smell of lavender, rosemary and sage and felt a sudden strong pang of homesickness. His mother smelled like this after a day's work in her garden.

He was tired. It had been a long day, filled with impressions. He felt like curling up in a corner to sleep, even if it was still only afternoon. And he was hungry.

“One moment,” a voice called. “I'll just get myself down from this ladder, preferably without dropping this...”

There was a crash, and Merlin jumped. A moment later an elderly man with long white hair and a benevolent-looking face stepped out from between two shelves, dusting his hands vigorously and regarding Merlin with keen eyes. “Sorry about that,” he said. “I dropped my old mortar and pestle. It was only filled with dust, so no harm done, and no good herbs lost. Never mind. How may I help you, my boy?”

Merlin drew a steadying breath. He had arrived. His new life was about to begin. “I'm Merlin,” he said. “Hunith's son.”

 

**3\. House Pendragon**

Early morning was long gone when Gaius deemed the time right to introduce Merlin to his prospective new employer. Merlin had woken early on his makeshift pallet among sweet-smelling storage crates. He was nervous, chomping at the bit, and curious about his new place of work. Gaius had not told him much over the generous evening meal, merely saying that he was sure the Pendragons would tell Merlin what they deemed he needed to know about them, and he'd get to meet them soon enough. 

Merlin's eyes had grown wide at the name. Pendragon. It sounded like a good omen.

Gaius had told Merlin about Camelot instead, including tales from the city's near history, some of which he had witnessed first-hand. The city's changing fortunes and the shifting luck of its ruling lords and powerful mayors made for exciting stories. If Gaius had wanted to distract and entertain his young guest, he had been successful. Merlin sensed a connection to Gaius, and felt entirely at ease in the old man's company.

Now Gaius was sitting comfortably in the morning light filtered through the narrow windows high on the wall, sipping his herbal tea, and looking at Merlin with a small smile. 

“Ah, the impatience of the young! You'll soon enough be working from dawn till dusk, my boy, so enjoy this quiet time while you may!” His smile faltered. “Besides, it will not do to arrive too soon. The Lady Morgana isn't an early riser. She suffers from migraines and insomnia, and needs her time in the morning.” 

Gaius paused, weighing his words. “I treat the lady regularly for her headaches and for nightmares. Remedies that I warrant your mother would know. She possesses much herb-lore.”

Merlin nodded, pleased to hear praise of Hunith. “Chamomile and lavender, perhaps?”

“Like mother, like son! That is well, Merlin. Perhaps you can help me prepare the herbs and remedies now and then. Though Lady Morgana's maid is very competent when it comes to alleviating her mistress' ailments too.” 

Merlin lowered his head over the morning gruel, which Gaius had seasoned with a dollop of honey, to Merlin's delight. Honey had not often been on the table at his own home of late. He carefully took note of the one beautiful and special name he'd just learned. Morgana. It would fit the most high-born of ladies. He wondered how she looked.

At last Gaius told Merlin to get ready, and walked with him back across the market square and towards the quieter part of town. They passed some stalls selling mosaic wares - boxes and mirrors. Merlin decided he'd go back and look at the wares as soon as he had the chance. From what he saw in passing, these were certainly not as fine as Balinor's used to be. 

He sighed, thinking of home. His work with the Pendragons would help his father, and his mother. That was a steadying thought. He only needed to make a good impression and be hired.

Merlin and Gaius made an odd couple, - an old man in a voluminous blue robe and a lanky dark-haired boy dressed in a brown jacket, his sleeves too short, and with a ratty knapsack dangling from his shoulder. They walked now along a broad canal towards a quieter part of town. The noise and bustle were replaced by the pleasant murmur in the streets of the affluent and powerful. The houses were big, some of them veritable mansions, and there were cobblestone-covered open courtyards with fountains and statues and wilting roses. The canal and the well-worn walkway that ran alongside it were shaded by willows and large linden trees, going yellow now at the turn of the season. Golden leaves floated on the calm water of the canal and covered the cobblestones and grassy edges. 

Soon they approached an ornate mansion with a beautiful row of large stained glass windows facing the canal all along its middle storey. Merlin longed to look more closely at those windows. In the middle of the building, between two windows decorated with rearing dragons on a red field – gilded glass dragons! - there was a carved doorway with a stately stone stairway leading up to it. In front of the stairs was the statue of a knight in full armour, sitting on his elaborately harnessed horse and holding his lance proudly aloft. It all looked very impressive, but there were weeds growing among the flagstones in front of the house, and the tip of the knight's lance had broken off. 

Gaius led Merlin towards this grand building. Merlin's gaze darted back and forth. The mansion had an air of past glory, a whiff of waning riches, that even Merlin could sense. Nevertheless it looked magnificent and magical. Could this really be where he was going to live and work? 

Gaius didn't even look at the impressive main entrance, but went straight to a modest wooden door at the side of the building and knocked. Merlin hovered close behind him as they waited for the call to be answered. 

It took some time before the door was opened by a maid who looked very out of breath. She brightened at the sight of Gaius. 

“Come in, come in!” she said, motioning them inside while trying to tuck a stray dark curl back under her white cap. “I'm so sorry to have kept you waiting! It's not been a good morning for my lady.” 

“Don't worry about us, Gwen. I'm grateful that Morgana has you to care for her. You have gentle hands,” Gaius said. 

Gwen looked at Merlin questioningly. He looked right back. She seemed kind, and had a cheerful face. Her simple blouse, sky blue bodice and long dark skirt under a linen apron were neat and clean. They reminded Merlin of a spring morning in Ealdor. The two of them would soon be working together, if all went well. He hoped they would become friends.

“This is Merlin from Ealdor,” Gaius explained. “The boy I agreed with your master that he'd see about the open post.” 

Gwen nodded eagerly. “Hello, Merlin! It's good to see you. We've been understaffed, it's not been easy. If you're really a strong worker things will soon be back to normal here.” She swallowed and took an awkward step back. “Not that I've got any reason to think you're not a good worker, of course! Gaius recommends you highly, I know. Just because you look like you're starving doesn't mean you can't be strong. Uhh... not that I think you're too thin...” 

She faltered, a flush tingeing her cheeks, and Merlin beamed at her. What a sweet girl! “I'm happy to meet you, Gwen. I promise I won't eat you out of the house. I'm stronger than I look.”

“I'll tell the master and mistress you're here,” Gwen said with dignity, her gaze moving to Gaius. “Please take Merlin to the antechamber and wait there, Gaius. It shouldn't take long.” 

“That's fine, Gwen. My old legs are complaining, I'll be happy to sit down for a while. Oh, and wait, here, please take this with you.” His hands dipped into a concealed pocket in the voluminous robe and re-emerged holding a blue glass bottle. “I've made a new mixture to help Morgana. New recipe, and it's probably very potent. She should drink it as she goes to bed. Let me know how it works.”

“Thank you! I will!” Gwen smiled gratefully and deposited the bottle in the pocket of her linen apron. She disappeared at a near-trot through a door that opened next to a wooden staircase. 

Merlin and Gaius climbed the set of wooden stairs, stepped out into a corridor and entered a small room with chairs along one side. They sat down facing a large, very faded tapestry on the opposite panelled wall. The wall-hanging showed a lush landscape where several knights on horseback were being attended by beautiful women in rich robes. Once the scene must have shone in radiant colours. Merlin studied the tapestry, biting his lip. The knights were clearly off on a quest, hoping for their fate to be kind. Soon he would know his. 

It wasn't long before Gwen was back, once more a little breathless. She ushered them through the room's other door. “The master and my lady will see you now.”

They entered a grand hall that appeared to run the length of the entire building. Merlin gasped in awe. To their right was an enormous and ornately carved fireplace, looking to Merlin like a portal into a fairy world. To their left were all the amazing stained glass windows. Bright sunlight streamed through the thick coloured glass and made the inside of the hall look like a jewel casket from one end to the other. As they crossed the polished but worn wooden floor it was like walking across a rainbow. It was the most beautiful room Merlin had ever seen. 

At the very end of the hall, side by side on large straight-backed wooden chairs, sat a man and a woman. The chairs were elevated one step up from the floor by a narrow wooden platform, like a dais. Their postures couldn't have been more different. The dark-clad man sprawled confidently in his chair, legs apart, head thrown back and eyelids heavy. His hands rested in his lap. At first glance Merlin's eyes were drawn most of all to his hair. In this big box of jewels and bright light it shone like burnished gold. 

The woman was very slender and sat slightly hunched as if feeling a chill, her hands gripping the armrests of her chair. She wore a shimmering blue silk gown, and her long black hair was held back with gold-edged bands. She was deathly pale, her skin almost translucent, and there were dark smudges under her eyes. But none of this could mar her beauty. This had to be the Lady Morgana, and the beautiful name suited her.

Gaius greeted the pair politely, calling them 'Lord Arthur' and 'Lady Morgana', and introduced Merlin even as the two of them were still crossing the length of the long hall towards the couple at the far end. Merlin's gaze swung back to the man. His new master was listening to Gaius, but was regarding Merlin steadily, with a distinct frown. 

Their eyes met, and just like that lightning struck. Merlin was blinded by a flash of light so intense, and jolted by a forceful blast so sudden, it felt like going blind and deaf in the middle of a violent storm surge. He lost his footing and fell flat on the floor in front of the dais with a distressed cry. 

Gaius was saying something urgently in the distance, but Merlin's ears were ringing and his eyes could see nothing but residue left by the intense light. 

He shook his head to clear it and struggled to sit up, still trembling with the impact. “What...what happened?” 

Gaius' concerned face swam into his line of blurry sight. “That is what we should ask, my boy. Are you all right? Are you ill? Did you have a seizure?” 

Merlin tensed. No employer would ever hire a servant who had seizures. This could cost him his job, cost his parents his much-needed wages. With sheer force of will he heaved himself upright and drew a deep breath. “No. No, Gaius. I... merely, uh, well...I stumbled, yes. That is all.”

Lady Morgana's hand had strayed to a golden chain around her neck, and she clutched an object suspended on the chain in the palm of her hand. Her eyes looked very green against her pale skin. 

Lord Arthur had gone rigid on his seat. Now he spoke for the first time, his voice sharp. “Stumbled on the flat floor? Do you think we believe that? Gaius, while I have sympathy for anyone suffering from palsy, you must know I cannot possibly employ such a person as our servant.” 

“Arthur, I assure you he does not suffer from the falling sickness or other known maladies, as far as I know. What happened, my boy?” 

Merlin opened his mouth, and closed it. He did not know what had happened, and his mind was still reeling. He once more shook his head to clear it. “Uhm...”

“At any rate, I am surprised you think him fitting for our home,” Merlin's potential employer scoffed. “This one looks and behaves like a village simpleton. Can he even speak?” 

“Yes, I can! And no, I am no simpleton, I would serve you well!”

Three sets of eyes swung Merlin's way, one concerned, one sceptical, and one completely enigmatic. Lady Morgana had yet to say a word.

Merlin drew another steadying breath, and balled his hands to hide that they were shaking slightly. He bent his head meekly. “I am sorry, my lord. I spoke out of turn. Please forgive me. I can assure you, I am healthy and hard-working. I merely stumbled, as I said. I have never been inside such a wonderful house before. It overwhelmed me.”

He looked down, biting his lip. “And besides, I need work so that I can help my parents,” he said, his voice nearly a whisper. “My mother relies on me.”

Lord Arthur frowned and leaned forward. He opened his mouth to speak, but Lady Morgana suddenly stirred, returning the object on its golden chain to its hiding place within her bodice, and placing her delicate fingertips on Lord Arthur's wrist. “I am content,” she said. “I am sure young Merlin will do well enough. Gaius vouches for him, after all. Let him stay to prove he is as good as his words.”

Lord Arthur turned in his seat, his lips compressed in a thin line. He looked her in the eyes for a moment, and relaxed. “If you're certain, Morgana,” he said, lowering his voice. “It is mainly concern for your well-being that makes me reluctant to take on anyone so clumsy and loud.” 

The ghost of a pleased smile crossed Lady Morgana's pale features, her eyelashes sweeping down for a moment to hide her eyes. When she looked up again, she looked directly at Merlin with a gaze that had turned surprisingly piercing. Her voice was soft, but not weak. “You heard how he's trying to help his parents, Arthur. That is commendable. A burden of grief and regret may fall on those whose parents are beyond earthly help. You should know that.”

“We both should, only too well. There is no need to remind me.” 

Lord Arthur abruptly rose from his seat, severing the connection between his hand and Lady Morgana's. 

He stepped down from the dais and reached out to take hold of Merlin's hand in a firm handshake. His eyes were a strong blue, like the sky on a clear day. A cold day. Merlin dropped his eyes. He noted with surprise that Lord Arthur's hands were covered with faded smudges of green, crimson and purple. They didn't look like a lord's hands.

“Be welcome then, Merlin of Ealdor, to house Pendragon,” Lord Arthur said formally. “We will take you into our service, for a trial period of two weeks.” 

The wages he mentioned were generous, but when he listed Merlin's chores and duties, they seemed innumerable. What would the other servants be doing? Were there no other servants? Merlin didn't dare ask. He glanced at Gaius. The old man had stepped back and stood with hands loosely clasped, regarding the proceedings with a pleased little smile. 

Lord Arthur was reaching the end of his speech.“We expect our servants to behave in a manner befitting the dignity and name of our house at all times. Your room is in the basement, where you will sleep and keep your possessions. You will have your meals in the kitchen. And finally, and most importantly, at no time are you to enter the top floor. That is where I work, and I need peace. I will brook no disturbance and endure no curiosity. If you enter there unbidden, you will be made to leave this house. Is that clear?”

“Yes, my lord.” 

“Good. That is all.”

Lady Morgana spoke up behind them, a hint of impatience in her voice. “Then all is in order. You may have Gwen show you your room, Merlin, and the kitchen. It is time for the noontide meal.” 

She sat twisted to the side, looking down into her lap, the ringlets of her dark hair hiding most of her face. It was as if she'd deliberately dimmed her own inner light to the world.

Merlin bowed to the two of them awkwardly, and turned to hurry across the vast expanse of floor towards the door at the other end. Still shaken from the strange lightning bolt that had toppled him, he nevertheless glanced again in passing at the long and magical wall of light and jewel-coloured glass. It called to him to come touch the images and study the craftsmanship. Since he knew now that it would be his duty to clean the windows, he would soon enough have the opportunity. It made him happy.

Gaius had taken his leave and was following behind him. Merlin waited to hold the door for the old man. As he himself stepped across the threshold, Merlin turned briefly to look back at the Pendragons. They were sitting in their chairs, leaning towards each other, the dark and the golden heads bent close in a tender and intimate gesture. The lady's hand was once more resting on her lord's arm. If they spoke, it was too softly for him to hear a sound.

Merlin quietly closed the door. 

His life as a servant in the Pendragon household had just begun. Something told him it would not be an ordinary life.

 

 **4\. Gwen's tales**

Merlin's heart sank when he saw the room that was to be his. It was in the basement, with storage rooms on either side, and a laundry room across the corridor. Even though the walls had been whitewashed recently his room was dim. Two small slits under the low ceiling let in a little light and air, but nevertheless the air felt damp and stuffy at the same time. 

The room was furnished with a simple bed, a chair, and a cupboard made from simple planks. A storage chest stood gaping empty in one corner, its lid up against the wall.

Merlin turned to look at Gwen. “Why is my room down here, do you know? This is such a big house, surely there are servants' quarters. Are they full?”

Gwen giggled. “Oh no, there are no servants' quarters here, not any more. The top floor is used for... well, it's the master's domain now. We two are the only regular servants here. And there is Cook, of course. She comes in for the day and goes home to her family at night.”

Merlin's eyes widened. This was an unusual noble household. Even a country boy could tell as much. “But... “ 

Gwen shook her head and said no more, and Merlin realized it was wiser not to push her to keep explaining. Maybe the Pendragons had fallen on hard times and were too proud to let on. It could happen to the best, surely Balinor's fate was proof of that. And Gwen obviously was loyal to their master and mistress. She would hardly be happy to hear anything sounding like criticism. 

“Where do _you_ sleep, then?” he asked instead and immediately blushed. “Uh, I only meant...”

Gwen smiled at him. “That's not a very decent question to ask a woman, Merlin! But I see you didn't mean to be lewd. I'm the lady's maid, so I sleep in the small inner room next to Lady Morgana's bedchamber. She wants me to be close so she can easily call me to her side. Her rooms are on the first floor.”

“Oh,” Merlin said. “That makes sense. I heard that Lady Morgana is sometimes unwell and suffers from nightmares?”

“Yes,” Gwen replied. “I suppose Gaius told you as much? Let's go up to the kitchen and eat. Aren't you hungry?”

Merlin dropped his knapsack on the narrow blanket-covered bed and followed her out the door and back up the stairs. He truly was starving. His insides felt hollow, as if the mysterious lightning strike in the grand jewel-box hall had burned away some vital part of him and left an achingly empty space behind. It worried him to think that it might happen again. 

In the kitchen Gwen helped herself to bread, cheese, some pieces of pickled fish from a jar, and a jug. She directed Merlin to get plates, knives and cups. They sat down by a work table under a window facing an overgrown back-garden. Both of them tucked in with determined relish the way hard-working people do. 

Cook, a plump middle-aged woman with a preoccupied look, bustled back and forth between work benches and cupboards. She said hello to Merlin, but otherwise paid them no mind, and they left her to her work.

Once the worst of his hunger had been stilled, Merlin reached out for the jug, which turned out to hold watered-down wine. At home he had had nothing but plain water lately, and he was pleased, drinking deeply.

The two of them talked for a while about themselves, getting acquainted. Gwen was a few years older than Merlin and had grown up in Camelot. Her father was a blacksmith, and her only brother served as a guard on one of the trade ships, 'looking for adventures'. Merlin told her a little bit about Ealdor and his life there, but didn't mention anything about the last few years. 

With food in his belly and a faint buzz of wine in his veins, he felt less on edge, and smiled at Gwen. “Is there anything you can tell me about House Pendragon? About the master and mistress? I don't ask for gossip, believe me, it's just that... I don't know anything. Except for the Pendragon name, Gaius truly told me next to nothing.”

“Really? Oh yes, I suppose it's only reasonable that you know a little bit so that you don't speak out of turn.” 

Gwen pulled a lock of hair out from under her cap and twirled it around one finger, a pensive look on her face. “Back in time, House Pendragon used to be among the noblest of the Camelot trade houses. You do know the lords of the trade houses are the real rulers here, right? Thirty years ago, Lord Uther Pendragon was the mayor of Camelot, a prominent member of the trade council, and one of the richest men in the city. But then, around the time when Lord Arthur was born, the House luck changed nearly overnight. Several ships were lost with their crew and cargoes, and a warehouse went up in flames. I don't know much about it. But I've heard that despite all that Lord Uther did, his riches kept dwindling fast and his standing in Camelot crumbled. It's no secret that at the end he was a broken, bitter man. All that was left to the family was this mansion and enough funds to keep a small household going.”

Gwen paused, pursing her lips thoughtfully. “I remember old Lord Uther well enough. When I came into my lady's service, he used to walk back and forth in the big hall and through the corridors, like a caged lion at a fair, growling in rage at everyone who came too near. His hair was thin and white by then, and his clothes were far too big. He seemed to shrink, towards the end. And he had stopped going outside, and didn't want to see anyone except Lady Morgana, - and me. 

Merlin looked at her in surprise. “You? But....Lord Arthur?”

Gwen looked down. “Lord Uther needed help with... personal matters. Dressing and such. I served him, at Lord Arthur's request. He and his father were not close towards the end. Lord Arthur, he... had already chosen his profession, and his father didn't approve of his unusual way in life. Lord Arthur refused to give it up, even to restore the House name. As you can imagine, Lord Uther wanted him to become a trade lord, to fight to rebuild the glory of the family's name and the power of its wealth and standing in the city. I would sometimes hear the old lord in his chambers, grumbling and cursing his son and whacking the furniture with his cane. The things he would say! I kept away then. He was dangerous in his anger.” She sighed. “He died two years ago, but his spirit seems to linger on. If there's a draft when I walk into a room, it feels to me like the chill of Lord Uther glaring at me. And there are a lot of drafts in this house.” 

Gwen got up and brushed down her apron with quick hands. “You'll think me mad and fanciful, I'm sure. And we've spent too long talking, in the middle of the day when there are chores to be done!” 

Merlin nodded and rose to his feet more slowly. There was a lot to think about. “Just this one thing more, Gwen. What exactly is Lord Arthur's profession?”

“Didn't Gaius even tell you that much? Lord Arthur's a painter. Possibly the best in Camelot, they say. He paints the city, and interiors, and people. They are beautiful, but the paintings always leave here, of course. I think it's the pay for his artworks that keeps the House going now. If he wasn't so meticulous and careful, he could have made a fortune. But it takes him a very long time to finish a new painting, and each one requires a lot of his energy.” 

“So that's what he does on the top floor?” 

“Yes.” Gwen hurriedly collected their plates and cups, and went to place them in the sink. “It will be your task to do the dishes later, once the master and mistress have had their meal.”

Merlin nodded. He tried to make sense of it all, matching the people he had just met with the tale Gwen had told him. He had so many questions. 

He trotted after her as she started to climb the stairs from the ground floor. “What about Lady Morgana, Gwen? Where is she from? Have she and lord Arthur been married long?”

Gwen turned to gape at him, horrified. “Married? Really, Merlin, how did you get such a scandalous idea into your head? My lady is Lord Arthur's sister!”

 

**5\. Ordinary days**

Merlin soon settled into the Pendragon household. He worked from dawn till dusk, but he was young and strong and didn't mind the long hours or the heavy chores. He was comfortable in the knowledge that he was supporting his mother and father and making their lives easier. 

The mansion was quiet, and parts of it were deserted for periods of time. When he was home, Arthur spent much of his time on the top floor with his paintings, and would not be disturbed for any reason. Morgana frequently had to rest behind closed doors, battling her migraines. At other times she would join her brother in his painter's studio and remain there for hours on end. 

“Is she making art too, then?” Merlin asked Gwen, trying to make sense of the habits of his employers. 

“No, she helps Lord Arthur in other ways. She inspires him. She's his muse, that's the term. I've heard him use it.” 

Merlin remained mystified by this explanation, but he sensed that the Pendragons' creative process was a touchy subject for everyone involved, and Gwen was obviously loyal. He kept his thoughts to himself, and let the questions rest.

He was frequently alone as he walked the long corridors with buckets of ash from the fireplaces or water from the well, as he washed the floors, and as he hauled all the firewood that the first cold of winter demanded. But he was by no means confined to the near-empty mansion. In the beginning he followed Gwen to the market. He also helped Cook fetch and carry when she went out to buy meat at the butcher's and fish from the canal-side boats. Soon he had the knack of it all, knew which vendors to trust and which to avoid, and was regularly tasked with running household errands on his own. 

Both he and Gwen had half a day off every week. Gwen would normally go to the city's iron-forge area to visit with her blacksmith father. Merlin had no similar firm habit. He would simply roam the main square, the marketplaces, and the riverside docks, enjoying the city life, the street performers and everything there was to see. His knowledge of the city, its people and places, increased a little every day. He felt the constant pull of the wondrous Camelot and its lights and noises, hustle and bustle. Ealdor was so small and staid and dull, and everyone had seemed to look at him askance after Balinor's misfortune, as if he were tainted with bad luck too. He didn't feel he belonged there any more. He was proudly becoming a true resident of Camelot.

Frequently he would finish his time off with a visit to Gaius. The old man always looked pleased to see him, and served up tea with honey or other sweet treats as they talked of anything from plant lore to Camelot customs to the weather. While they talked Merlin would crush herbs in the mortar, or mix and prepare simple draughts. He enjoyed learning more about plants and their uses. Gaius was not only a healer, but also knew about plant dyes of many sorts. 

Gwen became Merlin's good friend, and they shared many a laugh over their meals together in the kitchen. Little by little Gwen would speak more about the years she had spent in the household, and about the master and mistress. Merlin became increasingly aware that Gwen was devoted to Lady Morgana, first and foremost. She had nothing but praise for her mistress, and compassion for her ailing health. At times, when the lady was suffering from her migraines and nightmares, Gwen would hardly leave her side for days. At such times Merlin was left to his own devices, and all necessary tasks that Gwen would have performed around the household fell to him. 

Then he would be the one to take Arthur his meals in the small first floor drawing room, which was at the back of the mansion, between Arthur and Morgana's chambers. They usually took their meals there if there were no guests in the house. When they dined together, Gwen would serve the meals, and Merlin only got fleeting glimpses of the lord and lady together.

Arthur was often moody and preoccupied, and didn't seem to notice Merlin at all. Other times he was cold and demanding, but now and then when he dined alone he would be relaxed, and might even smile at Merlin and ask him about his day. In the beginning Merlin was tense and awkward around Arthur, fearing that another painful lightning seizure would strike. But when nothing of the sort happened, he learned to look forward to these quiet moments when it was just Arthur and him, the fire crackling in the hearth and the smell of good cooking. 

Perhaps Merlin relaxed a little too much. One evening he tripped over the rug and spilled the wine he was going to pour all over Arthur's sleeve. The jug he'd been holding tumbled across the floor and clanked as it hit the wall. Arthur had been sitting lost in thought and was taken unawares. He looked up sharply, vigorously shaking red drops off his sleeve. “You really are a complete buffoon, aren't you, Merlin? Will you never learn to stay on your feet?”

Merlin hurried to pick up the jug and fetched a cloth to mop up the wine as best he could. Arthur's scorn made him duck his head. His heart felt heavy. “I'm sorry, Lord Arthur. Forgive me. I'll wash your coat at once. There's warm water in the kitchen, and salt to take the stains. That should do the trick.” 

“Oh, don't take on so.” Arthur sank back down on his chair, his annoyed frown morphing into a kindly smile. There was warmth in his voice. “You natter on like a fishwife! Luckily this coat is old and worn. We all make mistakes. I dare say this is not by any means the worst misfortune that has come my way, or yours.”

Merlin turned in surprise, his wide eyes unexpectedly connecting with Arthur's. Their gazes held for a moment. Once more Merlin felt light and heat coursing through his body, but this time it was pleasant rather than painful. He hurriedly ducked his head to hide his confusion, his burning cheeks – and his smile.

“That's better. Please fetch me some more wine, Merlin. I'll go get changed in the meantime.”

Arthur got up and went into his chambers. When Merlin returned with the wine, the dining room was empty, and Arthur was no-where in sight. But his wine-stained coat lay across the chair back, ready to be collected.

It was long before Merlin fell asleep that night, his right hand clasping Kilgharrah through the night, pressing the dragon protector to his heart while his mind walked free in happy dreams.

He continued to keep Kilgharrah close. The medallion hung hidden beneath his worn work-tunic, suspended on a leather cord. During the first weeks of his stay in Camelot Merlin had tried to keep his guardian under his bed in the daytime, but he felt naked without it. Leaving a fire-dragon alone in the damp and darkness did not seem right. It was a problem that the leather cord was visible for all to see. He noticed that Gwen looked at it more than once, her curiosity and the unspoken question in her eyes easy to read. Kilgharrah was a secret Merlin didn't want to share with anyone. It was his, and his alone. But he didn't want to reject or disappoint his friend, should she work up the courage to ask what sort of mysterious object he kept on the cord. And even if she didn't ask, someone else might. 

Finally he decided to improve his wardrobe with a special piece of clothing. Merlin had brought few clothes from Ealdor, and didn't want to waste money on new ones when there was better use for his wages. But the next time he went to market, he stopped by a cloth seller's stall and spent a few of his hard-earned copper coins on a small square of fine wool cloth, dyed a deep ruby red. Merlin couldn't help his weakness for bright jewel colours, especially when his everyday clothes were so faded and drab. 

He returned home with a neckerchief tied jauntily around his neck, completely hiding the leather cord. Gwen teased him about his sudden urge to improve his looks, and only half in jest asked him who the lucky lady worthy of his attention was. The greengrocer's girl? The salt-trader's daughter? One of the pretty maids in the mansions down their street? Merlin laughed it off, teasing her in turn about her own likely beau, and grinning at her blush when he said it probably was one of the handsome city guards in those dashing crimson cloaks. How could a simple red scarf hope to compete?

Gwen hurriedly changed the subject. She never mentioned the scarf again, nor the cord it was hiding. 

During the first winter month the household gained a new member, a black and white cat that started coming to the side door every day. Cook fed it fish scraps and meat cuttings, telling Merlin and Gwen that a good mouser clearly should be made welcome. Surely they knew there were lots of rats along the canal, and mice in the cellar, especially in winter. Merlin nodded. He could attest to the mice, since he'd once woken up in the night when a mouse scampered across his hand. 

The cat made itself at home, frequently settling down on the base of the knight's statue out in front of the mansion and regarding the world from that elevated vantage point with inscrutable eyes. Other times it would roam the basement or the ground floor utility rooms and corridors. It hardly ever caught any prey. But Merlin looked at the way Cook's face softened when she fed the animal and it rubbed up against her skirt in gratitude, and was determined never to mention the dearth of dead mice. 

Cook even gave the cat a name, and a grand name at that. “Morgause, she is. Perfect for a lord's mouser, wouldn't you agree?” 

Gwen joked that the way the cat was treated, “her highness” would have been nearer the mark. But she took care that only Merlin heard her say it. Arthur grinned the first time he heard the cat's name, and he would reach out to pet Morgause if she was in residence on the knight statue when he went out for the day. But the cat kept her distance from Morgana for some reason. Perhaps Morgause, like Merlin, a few times had seen Morgana late in the evening or even in the middle of the night, drifting silently down stairs and along the dark corridors. Clad in a foamy ivory night-robe, her long dark hair spilling down her back, she was perhaps sleepwalking, perhaps not. The first time he saw her like that Merlin had believed her a ghost. He had felt his heart jumping with fright, Gwen's stories of Lord Uther coming back to him. Now he had become used to the occasional nightly encounters.

At any rate, Merlin noticed that the cat would scamper off if Morgana approached her, and after a few attempts the lady pointedly gave up on trying to pet it. She shrugged it off. “I was planning on buying a lapdog anyhow,” she told Gwen. But she never did buy a dog.

 

**6\. Approaches to art**

Arthur and Morgana were by no means cut off from the world, much less so than Merlin had first imagined. They would go out for visits and parties now and then, or to see the tailor or a seamstress, though most of the time Arthur went alone. When Morgana left the house it was always by horse-drawn carriage, rented for the day. 

The Pendragon siblings also entertained guests in their home occasionally. Those were the days when Merlin learned to avoid Cook at all cost. Her temper was not to be trifled with when she was working on her “noble meals”. 

The house-guests were men for the most part. Lord Percival and Lord Leon came most frequently, both of them from wealthy trade families. They had shared tutors with Arthur as children, and had remained close friends with him since then. And there was Arthur's portly uncle Agravaine in his rich velvets and large hat with dashing feathers, sporting an eternally cheerful smile and cold and calculating eyes. 

When there were guests, Merlin would proudly don a crimson servant's surcoat with the Pendragon crest, and help Gwen serve at table. The mood was usually light and there was a good deal of animated talk as the wine took effect. Morgana normally remained aloof, sitting at table like a beautiful, benevolent queen, but Arthur was jovial and laughed and joked and toasted his friends. Merlin cherished his unguarded, happy smiles. 

Lord Agravaine appeared to make his nephew uneasy. One time Merlin overheard Arthur's uncle needling him about the slow pace of his painting, demanding that he must work faster. His paintings were in such high demand, he could make a fortune for House Pendragon if he only exerted himself a little more, and paid attention to what was fashionable in the art market. 

“That's the least you can to to restore your House's past glory. Imagine what poor Ygraine would say, if she could see you now!” 

Arthur didn't say much, but his eyes were dark and his handsome face pale with a firmly set jaw. Merlin disliked Lord Agravaine for the way he made Arthur look, even more than for his disgraceful habit of groping Gwen when she poured his wine.

Whenever Arthur and Morgana entertained guests in the great hall, it invariably fell to Merlin to clean the fireplace and to scrub the long wooden floor afterwards. It was a hard and tiresome task, but he had fashioned a reward for himself that made the work easier. When he was finished and the room looked presentable, he would treat himself to a thorough study of a single one of the fine stained glass windows. 

He was in the process of studying the window panel he liked the most, carefully tracing the thin lead lines that held each piece of bright glass in place, when suddenly someone spoke right into his ear. 

“Do you like that one, Merlin?”

Merlin jumped back guiltily and swung around. “Lord Arthur! I didn't hear you; – I'm sorry.”

“No need to apologize. You are allowed some human behaviour, you know. At least once every week.” Arthur's lips quirked upwards in a small smile. “You were lost to the world, studying that window. Tell me why?”

Merlin hesitated. “I.... I think it's very beautiful. More so for the use of the muted colours. That's unusual. But all these subtle blue shades in the central castle are masterful, and look how the greys and pale yellows with these thin shards of gold and pink make a perfect dawn! I like how the castle rests on the long line of its own shadow, with the sunrise behind. Light builds, and light creates. The sun out there, shining through the window, makes these dark sections seem like real shadows forming. They come alive, just like the darkest time of night is alive, if you look for it. In this window, light is shown to create its opposite, which is darkness... and they're both necessary for the whole. “

Merlin abruptly halted his tumbling flow of words, bit his lip and looked down. 

Arthur stared at him for a moment, at first saying nothing. Then he turned to the window, reaching out to slide his index finger slowly down one of the sun-ray sections. He glanced sideways, studying Merlin from the corner of his eye. “There's something about you, Merlin. I have lived behind these windows all my life, yet here you are, teaching me to really see them again, see them as the artworks they truly are. Light and shadow, parts of the whole. The windows are centuries old, but that will never change. Do you think this is also true of the minds and hearts of men?” 

Arthur paused expectantly, waiting for an answer, but Merlin remained mute, not meeting his eyes. 

“Gaius mentioned that your father was a master craftsman. Was he the one who taught you to look at glass mosaics this way?” 

“Yes,” Merlin said in a low voice. He thought for a moment. “Well, I learned from him to distinguish good handiwork from bad. To judge the size and shape of the pieces used, and the effect each had in the image, how light would transform them, how the pieces were fitted together. But I don't think anyone has taught me which images speak to me, and why. Mostly it's the light. Light has a voice. Other times I don't know the reason myself – I just know strongly in my heart what is right.”

Arthur looked down at his hands, turning them to study the many faded paint stains on his palms. “How strange. You are amazingly eloquent when it comes to this. I had no idea. You have eyes that truly see. Maybe... maybe I should show you the painting I am working on, when it's close to being finished, and hear what you have to say. It's not like a glass mosaic, obviously, but I work with the subject of light. How light transforms, and how it illuminates. ” 

“Oh! Oh yes, I would like that!” Merlin blushed and drew a breath. “My lord.”

“We'll see. All in due course. The painting's not nearly done yet.”

This sudden connection between them, Arthur opening up about what had to be his most private side, made Merlin bold. 

“What is it you are painting, my lord? Is it the Lady Morgana?”

“Morgana!” Arthur said sharply, taking a step back, away from Merlin. “Why would you think that?”

Merlin faltered, sensing the mood change and their brief moment of understanding slipping away. “Forgive me, my lord. It's only that I know Lady Morgana sometimes joins you when you work. And I heard it said that she inspires you, that she is your muse. I thought that meant... that it meant... but I must have been wrong.”

“Indeed. I do not appreciate servants speculating and gossiping about my paintings or my life. If this happens again, you will not remain in service in this house. And if you do not have enough proper work to fill your days, I am sure that can be easily remedied.” 

Arthur's eyes were cold. “That will be all.” He turned on his heel and marched away, his steps thudding against the polished floor like the sound of slaps. 

Merlin stood crestfallen. He didn't understand where it all went wrong. 

He dashed one hand across blurry eyes, and slowly collected his mop and bucket to trudge back to the basement. All the light had gone out of the day. For once he didn't glance back at the brilliant windows before closing the door behind himself.

 

**7\. The painter and his muse**

Arthur didn't mention his work again, but Merlin's curiosity grew and grew into a burning desire to see the mysterious top floor and Arthur's secret painting. When he went to bed for the night under his rough brown blanket his mind would run wild, imagining the magnificent objects and paintings hidden on the top floor. He dreamed of bright light streaming in from all sides to illuminate a radiant and powerful Arthur, standing in front of an immense easel and wielding all the the colours of the rainbow.

Then one day Arthur and Morgana left the house in the usual horse-drawn carriage. Merlin was just coming back from the fishmongers' carrying a large basket full of mussels and two large eels. He stopped under the last linden tree before the Pendragon mansion and watched the two of them descending the stairs together. 

Morgana looked beautiful in a heavy blue cloak with a lighter blue silk dress peeking out underneath. Arthur as always was clad in dark velvets, this time with red trim along the edges. They waited for a moment for the carriage driver to open the door and fold out the flap stairs. Morgana was leaning back against Arthur's broad chest, Arthur's one hand resting possessively on her waist. Once more Merlin was struck by the closeness between the two of them, the physical intimacy. 

Arthur had soon handed Morgana up into the carriage and followed her inside. The carriage drove off at a brisk pace, and Merlin trudged back along the mansion towards the side entrance, lost in thought. 

Some time later, as he was about to collect his pail and bucket to wash the corridors and the drawing room floor, Merlin noticed Morgause on the stairs between the first and second floor. She wasn't allowed in Arthur's painter's studio any more than the household servants were, but now she was slinking up the stairs to place herself right outside the closed door at the top, like a small sphinx guarding Arthur's domain. 

The house was very quiet. Gwen had gone down to the laundry room to remove stains from several of Morgana's dresses and shifts. 

Merlin looked to all sides. His heart thumped wildly as he ascended the stair, leaned down to pet Morgause, and pushed tentatively at the door. It swung open, it wasn't locked! Arthur apparently had faith that they'd obey his commands. 

Merlin dithered for a moment on the doorstep, ashamed to break Arthur's trust, but his curiosity demanded satisfaction. Slowly he lifted Morgause in his arms and hefted her over his shoulder, where she settled down and even started purring. He felt braver breaking the rules in the company of Morgause and Kilgharrah. 

The mystery floor met all his fevered imaginings, and still at the same time was very different from what he had thought. For one thing, it wasn't completely cluttered with strange and mystical objects, although there was much there he wanted to study closer.

The room was very large and had to take up a substantial part of the top floor. 

The middle of the room was wide open. A medium-sized covered canvas on an easel stood to the side in half-shadow. Here in the middle of the room daylight did not enter through windows, but through shafts opening up right under the roof and creating bright beams of sunlight, slicing though the air where dust motes dipped and danced. 

A large and magnificent cut-glass chandelier hung suspended towards the far end of the open space, its many glass prisms glittering, some of them creating tiny rainbows on the walls and on the floor. 

There also was a small fireplace. Merlin found himself wondering who replenished the firewood, and who removed the ashes. Was it Gwen? Then he was distracted by several colourful glass objects on the mantelpiece. 

Closer to the entrance were all the trappings and equipment of a painter's art. A number of shelves held stacked canvases and rolled sheets of paper. There were tubes and jars and cups filled with upright brushes, tins and bottles of coloured power and oils. Various sketches and little pastels were pinned up on the wall next to the shelves in a seemingly random manner. There was an open cupboard in the corner containing porcelain jugs, a silver cup, a dried flower wreath and a lacquered music box. Two wooden straight-backed chairs stood against the wall, a large woman's shawl with a flower pattern draped across one. 

There were windows at each end of the room, but they were mostly shuttered from within, with wooden slats to allow the painter to regulate just how much daylight would penetrate into his domain. 

It wasn't until now that Merlin realized the room smelled of herbs and oil and turpentine. It smelled of Arthur.

To the far side beyond the chandelier, to Merlin's surprise, were all the furnishings of an opulent private chamber, complete with a chaiselongue in upholstered red silk and a low carved ebony table. A number of silver candlesticks with the remnants of wax candles stood haphazardly placed on the table. There was a soft, rich rug on the floor, and many long swathes of shimmering brilliantly-hued fabric hanging along the wall, some of them forming the canopy over a bed. Maybe Arthur rested there while he pondered his art and the questions of light and darkness? Merlin could imagine him very clearly, - slanted light shining in through the reds and blues and purples of the canopy and painting Arthur himself and his perfect limbs in shifting colours, as if the paint spots so frequently visible on his hands had come alive. 

Merlin was falling under the studio's strange spell. All the colours, the glass and prisms, the direct and reflected light! This looked and felt like a private part of his idea of heaven. Carefully he walked over and reached up on tiptoe, touching a finger to the diamond-shaped cut-glass pendant suspended from the middle of the chandelier. 

This was Arthur's secret world. This was where he truly _lived_. With Morgause still purring on his shoulder, Merlin slowly spun around, eyes wide, taking it all in eagerly, wonderingly. He was afraid to disturb anything in the room. He couldn't possibly risk shifting the cover on the canvas Arthur had to be working on to see the hidden painting underneath, but he longed to take a closer look at the sketches on the wall. Finally, a chance to see and admire Arthur's art for himself!

Just then there was a hollow noise from downstairs, the barely audible sound of a door closing. Merlin stiffened, his hands clamping down on Morgause so that she meowed in indignation. Was that Gwen returning from her laundry work in the basement? 

“This was a waste of our time,” he heard Arthur's voice from below. “I will never let Percival drag me off to meet that crowd of so-called artists again. That Gwaine person - now, what a fraud!”

“Oh come, Arthur, they weren't that bad,” Morgana chided, her light tone of voice floating up from below. “Gwaine was very charming. Fresh ideas, new perspectives, and so handsome! I do hope to meet him again.” 

Arthur's only response was a snort, and Morgana's rare tinkling laughter preceded her up the stairs and into the very room where Merlin now stood completely frozen. 

Arthur and Morgana were ascending the stairs. They were coming right here!

“Do you have wine in the studio, dearest?” Morgana asked. “Let's not dawdle. I feel the time is right. There's power building.”

In a panic, Merlin looked around. There was no time to think. Clasping the now very annoyed Morgause to his chest, he careened across the floor like a startled deer and dove for cover under the bed by the far wall. It was low, and the long and heavy draperies cast shadows across the floor there. Hopefully he'd be able to hide for as long as it would take.

He lay stretched on his side, clasping the writhing cat with one hand and trying to pet and calm it with the other. His nose itched from the dust under the bed. He struggled not to sneeze. 

There were steps approaching. The door opened, and someone walked softly across the studio floor. 

“Come, my dear, come to me,” Morgana was saying almost in a sing-song tone of voice. Heavier steps followed her into the room and stopped in the middle of the floor where she was standing. There was silence for a moment, then a blue cloak fell to the floor and into Merlin's field of vision. More silence, then a low contented humming, and a wet, sliding noise. Merlin couldn't place it. 

Arthur's footfalls went in the direction of the easel, and a low scraping noise indicating he was pulling his painting forward. 

Meanwhile Morgana's light blue silks accompanied the blue cloak on the floor. She was removing her silk stockings, too. Merlin could see her bare feet. He felt a blush creeping over his cheeks. 

Suddenly she was standing in an intense pool of fractured, glaring light. 

“Come here, into the light, dearest. Come to me...”

Arthur moved back towards her, dropping his shirt on the floor as he moved. He walked into the pool of light, stepping so close that Merlin could see his shiny black boots bracketing Morgana's small pale feet. Now she went up on tip-toe. 

“The Gift of Light is the gift of inspiration. Come take it from me,” she murmured seductively. 

Merlin needed to watch. He needed to know. What was happening couldn't possibly be what he believed, what he feared, what he imagined. Bracing his feet against the wall, he pushed himself to the edge of the bed and peeked out. He could see them fully now. 

Morgana was wearing only a white shift, and in the intense light he could see the contours of her slim body through the thin linen. Arthur was bare-chested. He bent his head to allow his sister to place her golden chain around his neck. A large, sparkling gemstone dangled at the end of it. The jewel came to rest between Arthur's peaked nipples, nestled in the golden hair on his chest. Merlin swallowed. 

Still in the middle of the floor, Morgana moved closer again and was rubbing up against Arthur. He gripped her, folded her eagerly in his arms, and moved with her as she swayed. They were breathing hard, panting almost. Arthur's eyes were unfocused and very dark, and his eyelids heavy. Their lips met in a kiss, hungry, demanding, wild. 

Merlin felt sick. He wasn't supposed to have seen this, should never have come here. He turned his head away. Hot tears welled up. He was still frantically holding Morgause. He couldn't wipe his eyes for fear of losing his grip on the cat. 

Suddenly Morgana spoke, loudly and clearly. “It's time, dearest.” Her voice compelled Merlin to look again. Morgana had taken a step back, letting her shift float down her body to leave her completely naked. She looked lithe, strong and graceful, very different from the ailing woman of debilitating migraines and closed shutters. She reached out to place her right palm over the bright jewel on Arthur's chest, pushing it hard into his flesh. 

“Open yourself to receive and to give, mind and heart and body,” she said, and under her hand a harsh light welled forth so intensely that it seemed as if the sun itself had entered the room. In that instant Merlin felt a sharp pain in his own chest, and for one frantic moment thought that Morgause had clawed him. Then he realized it was Kilgharrah.

The studio filled with a maelstrom of light, every glass object shining like the brightest star, the shafts of light like firebrands. Rainbow colours from the chandelier danced and churned. All of it evidently was fed by the painfully bright and intensely pulsing light emanating from Morgana's hand on Arthur's bare skin. 

Merlin's dragon guardian was burning now too, writhing in torment, searing itself into Merlin's flesh. The pain was excruciating. 

Arthur threw his head back and moaned. Merlin held back a cry by sheer force of will, but some small strangled sound still pushed its way out between his clamped teeth. 

All at once the lights went out. From one moment to the next the room was filled with shadows. The pain abated. Merlin choked down a sob. His mind was reeling. 

Morgana had stepped back, and was turning towards him. “What was that noise? Is somebody here? I felt something wrong in the light, a disturbance...” 

Arthur was swaying slightly on his feet. His open breeches, riding precariously low on his hips, revealed that his erect cock was not as easily distracted as Morgana. He didn't reply. 

“Show yourself,” Morgana said, voice shaking. “Show yourself, or face the consequences!”

Without thinking, without planning, Merlin finally released Morgause and gave her a push. The cat had been frightened by the lights and the intensity of sensations in the room, and streaked across the floor, frantically clawing at the door to get out and away. 

Morgana laughed hollowly. “It's just the cat! What is she doing here? I thought.... Oh God, I thought....”

Arthur hurriedly pulled his breeches up, and went to the door to let Morgause out. The animal disappeared like lightning. 

Morgana meanwhile donned her shift, and was pressing her hands to her head, her whole body shivering. “Oh, it hurts, it hurts, much worse than when we find release,” she whispered. “Give me my diamond back, I need to get to my chamber.”

“But couldn't we...” 

“No, no, it's no use now, it's left me, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!” She practically wailed the last words, as if she was in terrible pain. Merlin could empathize. He was exhausted, and wanted nothing more than to get away from there, to hide himself and to lick his wounds – and to sleep. His world had turned upside-down, and he didn't know if he'd ever be able to make sense of it again. 

Morgana wrapped herself in the blue cloak and left, barefoot, emphatically refusing Arthur's help. Arthur himself got dressed more slowly. He placed the easel back in its previous spot with a heavy sigh, wandered aimlessly around the studio for a while, and then went to lie down on the studio bed with a groan. 

Merlin lay stiff with fear directly underneath him. As long as Arthur was there, he could not get away. After a while the sound of deep and regular heavy breaths came from above, and Merlin nearly despaired. He was trapped! There was nothing for him to do but wait it out. 

His weary mind took pity on him and shut down quietly, and soon Merlin was sleeping too, the sound of his light breaths never penetrating the bed above him. 

Arthur and Merlin slept on for hours, only inches apart, finding rest and solace in dreams, while the sun dipped below the horizon. The black of night took hold of Camelot and covered the silent Pendragon mansion and its secrets. 

It was still dark when Merlin awoke from the sound of steps across the floor. Arthur was leaving. The door was opened, and fell shut. 

Merlin was heart-sore, bewildered, parched and in pain from the dragon's fire. He waited a little while before creeping from his hiding place, and flitted down the lightless stairway like a night shadow. He didn't stop till he was safely back in his own bed, with his wet neckerchief resting on the burned skin over his hollow heart. He lay wide awake for the rest of the night. 

 

**8\. Strange days and sleepless nights**

Merlin passed the following days and nights in a daze. 

He went through the motions of doing his work, even chatting absentmindedly with Gwen. He was distant but polite when his path crossed Arthur's or Morgana's, but inside he was reeling. It was all such a jumble of questions and confusion and doubt. He looked at Gwen and wondered if she _knew_. Had she kept this secret from him without a second thought? 

He surreptitiously studied Arthur and Morgana. They appeared the same as before. But what had been seen could not be unseen. 

Their closeness took on a new and sinister meaning. Every little smile or nod or casual comment had a darkly sensual undertone to it. Merlin felt his chest constrict when either of the Pendragons were near. How could they? Ought he to leave their service? How could Arthur do such things? Maybe all artists in Camelot engaged in this sort of unspeakable acts? And that powerful light and its mysterious source had made Kilgharrah react in protest, react with real fire. How? There was no-one for Merlin to turn to with all of this. Who could he even trust? 

For a moment he considered going to Gaius. The old man had much knowledge and wisdom, and understood the world and the minds of men. And he knew Arthur and Morgana, had lived in Camelot during their childhood. Perhaps he would be able to explain, to make sense of the mystery and madness of that evening in Arthur's studio. 

But when Merlin imagined himself telling Gaius what had happened, he knew he wouldn't be able to describe it all, or even speak about it aloud. And what if Gaius thought Merlin himself had gone insane, and was hallucinating? He remembered the lightning strike sensation that first time he met Arthur and Morgana. Gaius had been there then; would he continue to believe Merlin when he insisted there was nothing wrong with him, when these strange inexplicable things kept happening to him? _Was_ there nothing wrong with him? Was he perhaps going mad without knowing it, or suffering from some strange dangerous malady, a distemper brought on by foulness in the air or the water? 

His worries gnawed Merlin night and day. He had trouble sleeping, and lost his appetite. Gwen noticed, and was concerned. She urged him to tell her what was wrong, but he insisted all was well, even when his tired eyes and hollow cheeks belied his every word. 

One day the two of them were having their midday meal in the kitchen. Gwen tried to keep the conversation going with small talk. Merlin mostly answered in monosyllables. 

“You're having the first floor rugs out to give them a good beating today, are you not? I can join you, if you want me to. My lady won't need me today, she will be with Lord Arthur in his studio this evening, so I have time to help you,” Gwen said innocently. 

Merlin choked. Gwen patted his back worriedly. “Merlin, you're not yourself. No use denying it. I think you are ill.” 

“Perhaps,” Merlin muttered. “Just a little unwell. I'm sure it's nothing.”

“Go to your room and try to sleep it off,” Gwen said. “I will take care of the first floor rugs for you today, so you can rest. The rest can wait.” 

Merlin looked at her. He felt immensely tired, empty and lost. Sleep would be a welcome relief. 

“Thank you, Gwen. You're a good friend.”

“You'd do the same for me,” Gwen smiled, and patted his hand. “Sleep and recover!” 

Merlin knew where Cook kept a small store of spirits and sherry for cooking. Once Gwen had left the kitchen, he returned there and opened the cupboard quietly, pouring himself a little of each bottle into a mug. The concoction smelled and looked unpleasant, but medicine was supposed to taste foul. 

Merlin went down into his room and determinedly downed the full mug in one huge gulp. It burned all the way going down. Tears streamed down his cheeks, and it set his stomach and guts aflame. But before long it also worked the way he'd hoped - he fell into deep sleep bordering unconsciousness. 

Whatever happened elsewhere in the mansion that evening and night did not make any impression on Merlin, lost to the world in his dim little space below ground.

Morgana was abed with debilitating migraines for the three next days. Merlin didn't think she could be feeling much worse than him.

Ordinary tasks and ordinary days nevertheless little by little brought him back out of his slump, and he went about his duties quietly and diligently. 

Arthur for his part was in a very good mood, relaxed and cheerful. He smiled very charmingly when Merlin served him his meals, and kept talking to Merlin animatedly, even trying to joke with him. 

Merlin didn't know what to do, how to behave. His face felt like a stiff mask, and his whole body felt awkward. 

He carefully poured Arthur's wine and set a large plate of lamb chops and greens in front of him. 

Arthur helped himself to a large bite of meat, a look of pleasure on his face as he chewed. “Oh, this is good!” He grinned. “We're fortunate in Cook, are we not? She never has had to resort to rat stew!”

Merlin stared at him wordlessly. Arthur frowned. 

“Are you feeling all right, Merlin?”

“Quite, my lord.”

“Is something the matter?”

“No, my lord.”

“Only, these days I find your face resembles the back end of a cat!”

Merlin winced, and Arthur shook his head, dismayed. “See, you don't even laugh at my jokes! In truth, I haven't seen you smile these past three days.” 

“I'm not sure there is a great deal to smile about.” Merlin bit back further words, embarrassed at letting that much slip. He backed towards the door. “My lord”.

Lord Arthur pointed at Merlin, gesturing with his meat knife. “Don't leave just yet!” 

He knit his brows and studied Merlin for a moment, as if Merlin was a riddle he needed to solve. “Don't leave. I have something to say that hopefully will cheer you up.”

Merlin cast a glance at the door. It was so close! But he had been ordered to stay. He waited while Arthur had another bite of meat.

“Merlin, my painting is near to finished. I promised to show it to you when I got this far.” 

Merlin blushed. His heart started beating faster. “I'd like that, Lord Arthur! Is the painting... is it....” He glanced up towards the ceiling. The studio was right above their heads. “Where is it?” 

Arthur smiled. “That did bring colour to your cheeks! I'm glad. I'll bring the painting down to the hall tomorrow, when there's daylight.”

Merlin nodded. “Thank you, Lord Arthur. I look forward to seeing it.” 

 

**9\. Woman with a Wine Jug**

The painting was a revelation. 

The canvas was of modest size, as Merlin had already known. But it hooked him and reeled him in. It showed a peaceful domestic scene, a woman holding a stained glass window open with her right hand while pouring ruby-coloured wine with her left, the stream of crimson liquid linking the elegant pitcher and the tall silver cup it was poised above. Behind the woman, on an otherwise completely unadorned wall, hung a large mirror, arranged so that it reflected the view of Camelot offered by the open window. Neither the woman in the painting nor any art patron admiring her could see the view of the city directly. The mirrored image was all.

The woman was clad in a rich blue frock and a large snow-white cape and hood. The clear fields of blue and white lent focus and balance to the painting, and yet there was so much life and nuances within each colour! The woman's face was partly obscured, her posture and expression serene. Merlin recognized the dress as Morgana's, but to his relief the woman herself looked quite like Gwen – though it wasn't exactly her, either. 

Merlin stared and stared, trying to take it all in. There was so much light in this small window into an imaginary yet familiar reality! 

The interior of the room, the woman's white hood and the wall were suffused with the soft, pleasant glow of bright daylight filtered though opaque glass. It illuminated the upper half of the room. The silverware glittered enticingly with reflected lights of its own. And the world beyond the window was rendered in blazing light: Camelot's towers and walls, its strong colours and busy canals. The minute city was painted in loving and radiant detail, and yet the mirror image's reflections and distortions made it seem as if Camelot, the City of Lights, was being absorbed into clear air, dissolving in the shimmering heat haze of a summer's day.

Merlin realized with startled admiration that there was no direct light in the entire image. All of the light in the painting was filtered through glass, or reflected from the mirror or other surfaces. He wondered whether Balinor at the height of his art could have recreated this in mosaic form, using different qualities of glass to harness the light's magnitude and direction. 

Yet for all the artistry of light, it was the contrasts that made Arthur's painted scene come alive. The quiet room and the bustling city, the colours outside and the whitewashed walls inside, the deep blue and clear white, the soft light through the opaque window and the intense brightness flashing from the mirror, the light in the upper half and the shadows in the lower half.... 

Merlin stepped closer, intrigued and fascinated. What a wealth of impressions! 

“Tell me what you think of it,” Arthur said. He had been standing quietly to the side, observing Merlin's every reaction with keen interest.

“Who's the woman in the painting?” Merlin asked, stupidly. 

Arthur arched an eyebrow. “It's every woman. It's no-one. It's not a portrait, Merlin. It's a state of mind.”

“Oh.” Merlin pondered this for a moment. He couldn't tear his eyes from the canvas. “You love Camelot,” he said with certainty. “And you express your love using light.”

Arthur nodded slowly. “I doubt many others will see that as clearly as you do. You have the gift of perception, Merlin. Yes, I love our City of Lights, and I want her to prosper. If I can add the smallest flicker of light and colour to her glory, I am content in my ambition.” 

There was a noise outside the door, and Arthur placed a light hand on Merlin's shoulder. “They say that in the old days, the fate of the city depended on the skills of her artists. They were the ones to create her greatness and happiness. They crafted it into being with their art. That inspires me. It's my guiding star.”

He looked away, lowering his eyes. His golden hair shone to rival the lights of Camelot. 

“We're out of time, ” Arthur said, just as there was a knock on the door. He walked towards it without looking back at Merlin. 

“Enter, please!”

Gwen peeked into the room, glancing at the exposed canvas with curiosity. “My lord, your guests have arrived.” 

A small group of people led by Lord Agravaine entered the room. Merlin didn't know most of them, but recognized two of the men as wealthy burgers of Camelot, sumptuously dressed. He did not know their names. They made for Arthur's painting without hesitation, gathering around it like moths drawn to a light. Or wasps buzzing around a pot of honey, Merlin thought, looking at Agravaine's striped doublet and garish hose. 

Merlin moved quietly towards the door, planning to slip away unnoticed. But the last man entering was familiar to him. “Gaius!” he exclaimed. 

The old man smiled and turned to him. “Merlin, my boy! I couldn't let the opportunity to view the long-awaited new masterpiece pass me by. Rumour about its excellence already flies all over the city. No doubt helped along by Lord Agravaine. He's very... proud of his nephew.” Gaius's voice was dust dry, but his expression did not betray any particular emotion. “It will be sold and gone before the end of this day, I'm sure.”

“Oh,” Merlin said, dismayed. Somehow he had forgotten that the painting would be finding a new home. It would likely end up on the wall of some well-fed burgher or wealthy trade lord, probably someone with a limited understanding of art, but eager to put his good fortune and riches on display. 

“That's the way of it, I'm afraid,” Gaius said, reading Merlin's expression. 

Merlin wished he had been given much more time with the painting. And with the painter. But it was not to be. 

“I have to go back to the kitchens,” he said. “Gwen may have remained downstairs for our noonday meal, but she will want to go back upstairs as soon as possible.” 

Gaius nodded. “I'll follow you. I have brewed a slightly stronger remedy for Lady Morgana, and I want to discuss its use with Gwen. I understand Morgana has been severely ill for days now. I will have to see her, but I want to talk to Gwen first.”

“Morgana,” Merlin said flatly.

“Merlin?” Gaius had a truly impressive way of arching his eyebrow.

Merlin drew a breath, plunging on despite his better judgement. “Do you trust Lady Morgana? Do you...like her?” 

“Trust? Like? Those are hardly words for me to use to describe a patient in need of my help, nor for you as her servant.” 

Merlin did not respond, and Gaius sighed. “Morgana has had a difficult time of it. Do not think that because she has beauty and youth, a title and a mansion to live in, she has not encountered hardships in her life. She is a very gifted woman, but gifts such as hers are accompanied by pain and peril. Where there are bright lights there will be dark shadows. Achieving a balance is never easy.”

“Gifted with Light, is that what she is?” Merlin whispered, thinking back to the glaring riot of light in Arthur's studio that one day. The harsh radiance of Morgana's diamond. The day he'd never forget. He shivered.

Gaius's eyes turned sharp. He frowned. “I didn't say that, Merlin. Do not read more into an old man's musings than was intended! Show the lady proper respect and keep at a distance when she is unwell. And now I really have to go see Gwen.”

Gaius gave Merlin a decisive nod, lifted the cloth of his long emerald-green robe and sped from the room faster than a man his age ought to manage. Merlin was left staring after him, and took some moments before he also had the common sense to leave the hall and its buzzard flock of art buyers behind. 

He saw neither Gaius nor Gwen in the kitchen. They were probably in Morgana's chambers. Merlin had his meal alone, sunk in deep thought. 

The painting was sold before the day was over to Lord Godwyn, one of the richest trade lords. He took it home at once. Merlin never saw The Woman with a Wine Jug again.

 

 **10\. Upheaval**

Merlin had become used to encountering all manner of people in the streets, markets and quays of Camelot. People from foreign lands too, frequently dressed in strange fashions, sometimes with impressive jewellery that never failed to catch his eye. 

Still, the handsome man standing at the side entrance as Merlin returned home from the market one day would have stood out in any crowd. He was dark-haired and his skin was bronzed by the sun. A large gemstone glittering in his right ear lobe immediately drew Merlin's attention. The stranger wore simple loose-fitting sailor breeches and soft leather boots, contrasted with a fine cloak adorned with fascinating patterns and intricate silver thread embellishments. A large pin carved from horn into the shape of a griffin held the cloak in place at the man's right shoulder.

“Can I help you?” Merlin tried not to stare too blatantly, hefting his basket filled with chunks of yellow soap up on one hip. 

The man turned, his exotic cloak undulating to reveal a curved and bejewelled dagger dangling from his belt. He nodded and smiled, teeth shining white. “I'm looking for Gwen; - Guinevere, that is, - Tom the smith's daughter. She is a maid here, I have been told, but no-one answers the door.“ 

“Oh,” said Merlin, embarrassed on House Pendragon's behalf, but increasingly curious. “You have come to the right place. Gwen must be occupied upstairs. I'll go see if I can find her. Who should I say.... “

“Lancelot,” the man said, and smiled again, gesturing in a sweeping motion that sent a waft of sea smell in Merlin's direction. “Lancelot of Benoic is my name. Gwen doesn't know me, but I sailed here with her brother.”

“Really?” said Merlin, excited. “Elyan is home at last? Wait here, and I'll go find her.”

He hurried inside and to the laundry room, put the soap down in its bin, and was relieved to meet Gwen coming down the stairs just as he was going in search of her. 

Lancelot was waiting patiently at the door, and lit up at the sight of Gwen. “My lady,” he said, taking her hand and bending over it, to Merlin's amusement. “It is good to meet you at last. Your brother has told me so much about you.”

“Elyan? You are his friend? How is he?” Gwen asked. “And I am no lady, as I'm very sure you already know,” she added, smoothing a hand across her white apron. She looked self-conscious, but smiled as she spoke. 

“You look like a lady to me,” Lancelot said. Merlin curbed an impulse to roll his eyes. 

Lancelot reached out to take Gwen's hand, and Merlin noticed with interest that she did not seem to mind the charming stranger's attention. Lancelot's voice turned low and earnest. “My lady, I bring you bad news, I'm afraid. Elyan was taken ill in Nemeth several months ago. He was struck down with the manticore fever. Most men do not long survive that malady, as you must know, and though we did everything that we could for him, we feared he would die on the home journey.” 

Gwen's eyes went wide, and she clapped her free hand over her mouth to stifle an exclamation of horror. 

Lancelot hurried on. “Elyan is strong and has survived, but there is no certainty that he will live. Several others were infected on the high seas, and died. Conditions onboard the Golden Unicorn were not ideal for someone that ill. I have helped bring Elyan home to your father's, the way he wanted. We have been shipmates for these past two years, and we've travelled across the far oceans together and seen the most wondrous places. I want to help him any way I can.” He sighed. “Elyan lies abed now, wracked with pains and strong fevers. I promised your father I would bring you word of this. He hopes you will come home at once.”

Gwen drew a deep breath and squeezed her eyes shut, rubbing her cheeks. “Of course I will come. I will do all I can. I have to... I need to... I must speak to my lord and lady. I cannot just leave without their permission. Merlin...?” 

Merlin had listened to the news with increasing worry, and he hurried to reassure her now. “I'll wait here with Lancelot,” he said. “If he wants to walk you home, that is?" Merlin didn't wait for Lancelot's decisive nod, but carried right on. "I'll take care of your duties too, while you're away. Never worry, Gwen. Not about that.”

A pale smile crossed Gwen's features. She dashed a hand across her eyes and turned to run back up the stairs, lifting her dress out of the way as her feet pounded the worn steps. 

Merlin sighed. “Come in and sit in the kitchen while we wait,” he said. “Can I get you a glass of water?” 

There were many things Merlin ordinarily would have liked to ask such an unusual and exciting guest. Questions about foreign lands and their strange customs, about adventures and ships, fabled creatures and the high seas, and whether Lancelot had ever seen a live dragon. But the news about Elyan and concern over Gwen dampened his spirits and curbed his tongue, and the two of them spoke only briefly, their tone quiet and careful. 

“Elyan is uncommonly strong to have survived for so long,” Lancelot said. “I hope that with the love and care of his family he will eventually pull through.”

“I hope so too, for Gwen's sake. Her brother and her father are her only relatives. And when all is said and done, what is more important than family? They decide who we are and where we belong...”

“You may be right.” Lancelot's eyes grew distant, and he slowly rolled the jewel ear stud between two fingers, a gesture seemingly born of long habit. “I have no family. I have no place I call home, and that's why I always look to the next port and never settle for long anywhere.”

Merlin found no reply, afraid to say something that might be unintentionally rude, but his thoughts travelled across the miles to the plains and Ealdor. He hoped his mother and father were doing well. It seemed a very long time since he had said his goodbyes. A lifetime ago. He wasn't that same simple village boy who had travelled in the cabbage cart to reach the big city.

Gwen came rushing back downstairs, breathlessly folding some clothes and packing a few other belongings into a cloth as she spoke with Merlin. “They say I may stay at my father's till we know how my brother will fare, and I will still be welcome back into service here. My lady is so kind and generous... she really needs a maid to help her, and yet she didn't hesitate to let me go home.” Gwen tied the cloth ends together and hefted her bundle of belongings in her arms. 

She looked to the side and bit her lip, fidgeting uncomfortably. “And Lord Arthur says... well, there's one thing more.”

She pulled Merlin with her into the very corner of the kitchen, drew him close and lowered her voice. “I'm so sorry, Merlin. So sorry! I haven't told you, I haven't said that I help the master sometimes too, not just my lady. I've been cleaning his studio and everything in it, tidying it, and sometimes helping with the ordering and preparation of paints." 

Merlin looked up sharply. 

Gwen had tears in her eyes. "I've even been modelling!“ she gasped. “I'm sorry! I didn't want to lie to you! My lady and Lord Arthur forbade me speak of it a long time ago. Lord Arthur is very strict about needing privacy for his art, and my lady supports him. But I've felt so bad, not telling you about it, pretending to be doing other things....”

Merlin sighed. This meant another House Pendragon riddle was solved. He had hardly imagined Arthur did his own cleaning and dusting. But how much did the innocent Gwen really knew about the painting studio's darkest secret? Could she truly be oblivious? 

“Don't worry about it, Gwen. Think about Elyan and your father. That's what's important now. You've done the right thing, being loyal. The master's studio is no business of mine.” 

Gwen sniffed, smiling gratefully. “It's good of you not to be angry. But you see, I had to tell you now, because... from here on it will _be_ your business.” 

Merlin looked into her eyes and his heart gave a strange jolt as her meaning hit him. “Lord Arthur wants me to take over helping him in the studio?” 

“Yes,” Gwen said. “He told me to let you know before I left. He'll show you himself what he wants done, and how, and when.” 

“Oh.”

“It's really quite a special place, Merlin. There are so many lovely things, and colours and lights, you'll be happy to see it.”

“I'll look forward to that, then.” Merlin's heart was beating fast and hard. He swallowed, cleared his throat and leaned in to hug Gwen. “Hurry on home now, and take care of your brother. Good luck. Send word if there's anything I can do. But I suppose you'll be going by Gaius's?” 

Gwen nodded. “I'll ask him for advice. And remedies for Elyan, if he can provide any.” 

Merlin squeezed her hand to reassure her. Her fingers were cold. His felt too hot. He was sweating. 

Without further words Gwen turned towards Lancelot, who stood ready by the door. As they left, he gallantly relieved her of the bundle of her possessions. 

Soon the sound of their rapid footsteps faded on the flagstones outside.

Merlin sat down on the bench by the table, feeling strangely light-headed. 

The studio! Soon he'd be there with permission. He'd be there together with Arthur, in his place of colours and wonders and beauty, on the forbidden top floor hiding secrets and incest and wildfire. 

Merlin shook his head to clear it. He had work to do, more so now that Gwen was not here. There was cleaning to finish, firewood to carry, food to be served. He'd think about the studio tonight, in the safety of his own bed in the dark. There'd be time to come to terms with the news then. 

The door opened, and Merlin turned, expecting to see Cook returning from the butcher's. But it was Arthur. 

Merlin sprang to his feet, startled. Arthur did not often stop by the kitchen.

“Merlin”, said Arthur. “There you are. Gwen told you about your new duties, I take it? Please come with me. It's time you see my studio.” 

He stepped back and out of sight. Merlin stood frozen for a moment. 

Arthur spoke up loudly from outside the open door. “Hurry up! And bring a duster, a mop and a wash-bucket!”

Merlin smiled wryly. Shouldn't the floors in a magical place of marvels and mysteries scrub themselves? 

 

**11\. Servant and master**

Merlin struggled up the stairs behind Arthur, lugging a heavy load of heated soapy water and cleaning implements. Even before he crossed the threshold this second time the studio seemed less enigmatic and much more mundane. 

He put the bucket down just inside the door, and followed silently as Arthur walked him around the studio, explaining what he wanted done. 

“The floors need cleaning, as you see. But first, dust off every object here at this end. Be careful! I suppose you'll want a closer look at some of the things in here, and that's fine. But do not move them about or disturb them! Everything's exactly where I want it to be.”

A canvas stood prominently displayed on the easel in the middle of the room. It was pale and bare, ready to be transformed. A locked entry into another world, waiting to be opened. 

Merlin silently scanned the long room, noting how much less prominent the shafts of light from above appeared at this time of day. All the colours seemed weary and faded. 

There was mud tracked across the floor, apparently left by Arthur's large boots. Nothing indicated that Morgana had recently been here. 

“What about all the things there on the table, and those in the corner, may I lift them when I clean them?”

“You may handle everything here except my painting supplies. The oils, pigments, palettes and brushes,” Arthur said, indicating the objects in question with hand gestures. “Please don't rearrange or break anything. Keep your stumbling around for downstairs! You are the worst servant I've ever had, you know. Really, you're _hopeless_.”

Merlin drew a sharp breath and sent Arthur a sideways glance. Arthur was grinning, his expression nearly cheeky. He looked happy. 

Merlin quickly lowered his eyes and bit his lip to keep from smiling in turn.

Arthur turned serious. “I'll be right here, working on my paints. Just ask me if there's anything you're not sure about. But don't natter on. Let there be peace and quiet.” 

“Yes, my lord.” 

Arming himself with a wet cloth and a duster Merlin set to work. At first he worried that he would make mistakes or break something simply because Arthur was right there, following his progress, probably making ready to scold him. But Arthur did no such thing. He pulled a small table out from its place by the wall, and went to sit quietly near his easel. Carefully he lifted various small tins and vials out of a wooden box, poured yellow powder from one vial onto a plate-sized marble slab, and added oily liquid from another. He started grinding the mix, working it into a paste using a flat piece of stone. Concentrating deeply, he didn't look in Merlin's direction. 

Merlin went about his duties, carefully storing away every little observation that had eluded him the first time. He noticed a familiar silver jug on a shelf, and tenderly touched this object that had helped Arthur create his art. Maybe the other things stored on shelves and tables would provide inspiration for another masterpiece like the woman with her wine jug. 

They both worked in comfortable silence for a while. The calm and pleasant mood presented a complete contrast to the frantic scene and the glaring light that Merlin had witnessed from under the bed. He could almost believe that had just been a nightmare.

The regular soft swish-swish as Merlin got down on his knees and started scrubbing the floor had a hypnotic quality to it. He felt at peace as he pushed his scrub back and forth, back and forth. Now and then he glanced in Arthur's direction, but Arthur was preoccupied, his golden head bent over his paint, his hand moving in steady circles. 

Then briefly Merlin felt _something_ stir his chest, the fleeting sensation of a touch like a sliding feather. 

He looked up to find that Arthur was watching him intently. His hands were still on the table, the paint left to dry on the marble slab. 

It wasn't an unpleasant stare. Merlin met Arthur's eyes for a moment and felt that strange pulse of comfortable warmth across his chest again. Could this be Kilgharrah telling him something? 

He allowed himself a small smile before he ducked his head back over he wash pail and continued his chores. 

Soon he wrung the wash rag out and silently got to his feet. He crossed the damp and pristine floor, looking around for something else to do. He didn't want to leave. 

The bed under the coloured cloth draperies had been made and needed no attention. Merlin was relieved not to have to touch those sheets. 

“What about these used candles, my lord? Do you want me to change them for new ones?”

Arthur looked up. “Let the candles be. Mor.... I'll take care of those myself.”

“Yes, my lord.” 

Merlin wondered how long they had been in the studio. It felt as if they'd stepped out of time.

He watched as Arthur carefully scraped the freshly prepared yellow paste into a leather pouch, and tied the strings tightly shut. 

Next Arthur lifted a marble mortar and pestle out of the wooden box, and opened a glass vial containing glistening blue stones. He poured a few of the jewel-like pebbles out in his hand, studying them for a moment before placing them in the mortar. 

Drawn to the intensely bright colour, Merlin stepped closer, watching the process. A memory stirred. His father had on a few occasions used these precious stones for his mosaics.

“Is that paint you're making, Lord Arthur?” 

“Indeed it is. I prefer to make my paints myself. The pre-made slop that some vendors supply never feels quite right. It doesn't obey me the way I want. There's no heart in it, no light. It won't help me achieve what I want. So yes. I make most of my paints myself.” 

Merlin nodded. He had grown up with this kind of dedication. “The blue stones – are those lapis?”

“They are!” Arthur looked pleased. He held out the small mortar, showing Merlin the contents. “These are special, and extremely expensive. I am particular about the quality. I might buy vendor paints in a pinch, but I always grind the lapis myself. Ultramarine is the name of the colour it provides. I use it in every painting. It lends a glow that cannot be achieved any other way. Look, this is how the pigment is made.”

Arthur started grinding the pestle into the mortar, slowly and deliberately. There was a sharp sound as the precious pebbles were broken apart and crushed. Arthur's grip on the pestle was strong and sure. Standing very close to him, Merlin found it hard to take his eyes off the forceful and rhythmic push and grind, as regular as a heartbeat. His own heart was beating in time. His throat felt dry and his chest tight. 

Neither of them spoke again while Arthur worked. Little by little he transformed the lapis stones into powder, blue as the sky and insubstantial enough to be carried away by a strong gust of wind. 

The ultramarine pigment was ready, and could be mixed with binder to become paint. With one final flick of his wrist Arthur shook blue dust off the pestle and put it aside,setting the mortar down carefully. He stretched his back and rolled his shoulders. With a soft groan he drew a sleeve across his forehead, mussing up his golden hair. He looked up into Merlin's eyes, clearing his throat loudly. “I find this taxing, but also soothing. It makes me focus, gives me time to ponder techniques and the subject of my next painting.”

"And who... what are you going to paint next?"

Arthur shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I do not know. It's taking unusually long, but it will come to me. I just have to be patient for a little longer." 

In a flash Merlin remembered what Gwen had said. “I would be happy to help you, my lord. Preparing paints, if you want me to, or... other things. I like the colours.” 

Arthur smiled, genuinely and appreciatively. “I know you do, Merlin. We'll see. But for now, it's getting late. You've done very well here. I will certainly trust you to take care of my studio from now on.” 

“Thank you, Lord Arthur!” Merlin turned, feeling a little light-headed. Very eager to demonstrate his efficiency and usefulness, he promptly stumbled over his pail, sending dirty water splashing across the bare floor. He landed hard on his knees and fell forward in the middle of the puddle, his pail rolling away with a clanking sound and the scrub rattling across the floor boards. 

Stunned, he scrambled frantically on all fours to right the pail and retrieve his scrub and rag. He didn't dare look up. His cheeks were flaming and his knees hurt. Surely this calamity meant he would never be allowed into Arthur's carefully guarded domain again.

Arthur had jumped to his feet with a startled exclamation when Merlin fell, but remained standing behind his little table. Then suddenly he began making strange sounds, almost like snorts. Despite himself, Merlin looked up. He was treated to the sight of Arthur throwing his head back with complete abandon, letting loose peal upon peal of loud delighted laughter. 

“Oh, oh! Merlin! Oh! You... you....” Arthur gave up trying to speak for a moment and gave his laughter free rein . “There's no-one like you. You're perfecting clumsiness into your own unique form of art, although not quite the sort of art I had in mind for my studio!”

Arthur's breath hitched as he fought to get himself back under control. He moved around the table, offering Merlin his hand. Merlin hesitated for a second before he reached out and let himself be hauled back on his feet. As soon as their hands met and clasped, a sensation of lightning heat coursed up Merlin's arm. It felt strange, but good. Arthur's grip was firm, and his fond smile warmed Merlin's heart and at once calmed his worries.

Arthur squeezed Merlin's fingers reassuringly before he let them go. “Never fear, Merlin. I wouldn't have it any other way. You may be clumsy, and your manners are sometimes appalling, but you've grown on me. And I see that you are capable when it counts. Now, clean up this mess and let's go downstairs. You can find us something to eat. I'm hungry. Surely you must be, too.”

And that was how Merlin knew without a doubt that his fate had been sealed. 

 

**12\. Night creatures**

The first few days after Gwen left, Merlin didn't see much of Morgana. She kept to her chambers. Following her orders he placed trays of food outside her door, and collected the empty plates and glasses later. At least she seemed to be eating well, despite her migraines. Gaius's new and stronger potions had to be working.

To his disappointment Merlin didn't see much of Arthur either, for he would leave the mansion early to meet with Percival and Leon, and whatever he did with his friends, they were gone all day. He even took his meals elsewhere. 

Merlin had been looking forward to serving Arthur his meals, taking care of him in little ways to show his appreciation, hoping for some kind words and a smile in turn. But Arthur seemed completely withdrawn again, distant and businesslike, barely speaking a few words to Merlin in passing on his way out the door for the day. 

Merlin wondered if he had done something wrong, or spoken out of turn. Maybe he had been too familiar? But there were no answers to explain Arthur's cold and baffling behaviour, and Merlin dejectedly hoped that one day he would manage to make sense of Arthur's moods. 

It didn't take long before there was news about Gwen. It was all over Camelot that the Lords of the city had imposed a strict quarantine, after several local people already had shown signs of being infected by the fever that the Golden Unicorn had brought into port. No-one was allowed to leave the smiths' quarter. The ship had been moved from the quay and was lying at anchor in the middle of the river, her crew kept onboard. Pestilence might take hold all too easily in the city with its crowded streets and close quarters, and the Lords couldn't afford to take chances. Camelot was in decline already. A plague might topple it once and for all.

Gwen was confined to her father's house, tending her brother, unable to leave even if she had wanted to. Elyan apparently was hanging on, and for each day there was greater hope that he'd survive. Merlin thought of Gwen frequently, and hoped for the best. He wondered whether the dashing Lancelot had gone back to the ship, or whether he had been made to stay in Tom the smith's little house too. 

Gwen's absence meant Merlin had even more chores to do than before, and there was little time for him to ponder her circumstances, Morgana's state of health, – or Arthur's indifference. He worked hard, wanting to do Arthur and the Pendragon mansion proud, making sure there was no slack because of Gwen's absence. If he had time, he treated himself to polishing one of the beautiful stained glass windows in the grand hall. He never tired of those. At night he returned to his little den to sleep like a log. 

With Gwen away, Morgana keeping to her chambers and Arthur gone all day, the mansion seemed uncommonly silent and empty. It was filled with long shadows every evening as dusk descended. Merlin was lonely. He missed seeing Arthur about. There was no reason now to return to the painter's studio without Arthur there. He comforted himself with the thought that Morgana saw no more of Arthur or his studio than Merlin himself did. 

Very late one evening as he walked through the deserted and gloomy hallway and down the stairs to his little room, his candle flickered violently with a strong and unusual draft. It was as if a door had been opened to let a gust of cold air in, but he knew he had locked the servants' entrance himself earlier in the evening. 

He stood still for a moment, listening. There was an eerie muted noise that he couldn't place. He drew a shaky breath. Suddenly Gwen's stories of how Lord Uther's ghost might be haunting the empty rooms came back to him. 

Squaring his shoulders, he blew out his candle and determinedly went back up the stairs. He moved as quietly as he could in the direction of the locked entrance door, taking care to place his feet to avoid creaking boards, his senses on high alert. 

Nearing the top of the stairs there was a flash of movement in front of him. Something small and graceful and solid moved against the darkness. He jumped, biting back a startled yelp. Then he nearly laughed. It was Morgause streaking past him and up the stairs. The cat again! She seemed determined to roam where she could unsettle the mansion's inhabitants. 

Merlin leaned forward, reaching out a hand to call her back and pet her, but she was already gone. 

Just then there was a noise further along the hallway, and he realized it wasn't Morgause this time. He heard soft human steps. His eyes had adapted to the dark sufficiently now for him to discern a faint shimmer of light. Someone was approaching, but doing so stealthily.

He pressed himself against the wall at the top of the stairs and peeked around the corner. A dark billowing shape was moving towards him. For a moment he didn't quite realize what it was, and an irrational fear of ghosts gripped his heart. Then he recognized her. It was Morgana, wrapped in her voluminous blue cloak. She had her hood pulled up over her hair, even though she was inside. In her right hand she held her large jewel on its chain, the bright diamond from that fateful night in Arthur's studio. Now the gem shone with a much more muted light, just enough to let her see where she was going.

Abruptly she stopped and bent down, whispering something and reaching out. And there was Morgause, rubbing up against Morgana's cloak, butting her head lovingly against Morgana's hand. 

It was a strange and unsettling sight. The cat had always previously made a point of avoiding Morgana, had even seemed afraid of her.

The lady sank to her knees gracefully, whispering something to the cat, too softly for Merlin to hear her words. But by the faint light from the jewel on its chain he could see Morgana untying something from around the cat's neck, her fingers working with care as she unfolded a small scrap of paper and held it up to her face. Merlin was stunned to see her eyes turning brightly golden for a moment, just like a cat's. 

Morgana nodded to herself and crumpled the scrap of paper in her hand. Her eyes glowed again. A tiny flash, and the paper was consumed by fire. She rose to her feet and dusted off her hands, a few flakes of ash glinting in the gloom as they sailed slowly to the floor. 

“Thank you, my dear,” Morgana whispered, nudging Morgause with her foot. “Now shoo! I don't want you following me!” 

The cat obediently scampered off. Morgana moved to the door, once more using the gemstone as her source of light. Merlin held his breath, pressed himself against the wall, and lowered his eyes. The stairwell where he stood was pitch black, and everything silent. 

Morgana slid right by him in the crossing corridor without a downward glance. With a soft snick she opened the door and left the house.

Merlin waited a moment, but couldn't help himself. He had to know more. Tiptoeing to the door he opened it enough to be able to peek outside. Everything was calm, Camelot's muted night noises seeming very far away. Morgana was walking quickly across the flagstones towards the canal. Looking like a shadow among shadows in her billowing cloak, she was soon lost from sight. Although Merlin waited behind the door for quite some time, she did not return. 

He went to bed, but had difficulty falling asleep. House Pendragon had so many secrets and guarded so many mysteries, he marvelled that life there could present even a semblance of being ordinary. He wondered what Morgana was up to, and why. Once he found her enigmatic, but now she seemed to him more like an alien being. He couldn't begin to guess at her plans and her purposes.

Eventually he fell asleep, exhausted by the combined effect of the long day's work, the scares in the night, and his mind's wild imaginings. 

When he woke the next morning, Morgause was lying at his feet, curled up and sleeping soundly.

 

**13\. The Pendragons at home**

The next morning, Merlin prepared breakfast for Arthur, and made a breakfast tray ready for Morgana. He wondered whether she had come back at all, or whether her chambers would be empty. The servants' entrance door had been firmly locked when he woke up – he had had to unlock it to let Morgause out.

He jumped as a soft voice spoke up right behind his back. “Merlin, I want to...” 

He'd not heard anyone enter the room. Turning around, eyes wide, he saw Morgana standing there, wrapped in her emerald-green morning gown. 

“Ah! My lady!”

Morgana's laughter tinkled, but there was a brittle edge to the sound. “Whatever is the matter, Merlin? You look as if you've seen a ghost!” 

Her eyes were bright in the morning light, but there were dark smudges beneath them. Merlin bowed, a little stiffly. “I'm sorry, my lady. I didn't hear you. You startled me.” 

“I do have soft slippers. Just like cat paws,“ she smiled, and then turned silent, as if waiting for him to react to her words.

Merlin shifted his feet and drew a breath. He nodded. “How may I help you, my lady?”

“Please draw a bath for me today. As soon as possible after breakfast. I cannot wait for Gwen to come back. Who knows when the quarantine will be lifted.”

“Yes, my lady. I'll see about it directly.” He paused. “You're not thinking of hiring a new lady's maid, then?” 

“Replace Gwen? Oh, no! No, I'm willing to make do. Gwen has been with me a long time. I would never find anyone as efficient and gentle and loyal as she. She's a gem.”

Merlin met her eyes for a second and then quickly looked away. “Yes, my lady. I miss her too. I'll see about your bath.”

“Thank you. Also, when Cook comes in, will you please tell her that I want a proper early dinner prepared for myself and Lord Arthur this evening. I'll leave the details to her, as always, but let her know I want a real feast.”

Merlin stared at her. A bath, and a feast.

Morgana arched an eyebrow, impatient. “Merlin?” 

“Yes! I will tell her. Proper dinner, fit for a feast.”

Morgana smiled. “Thank you.” She turned and walked towards the door, but looked back at Merlin over her shoulder for a moment. “It's such a lovely new day, isn't it? Look how brightly the sun shines through the windows! Doesn't it make you happy?”

Merlin found nothing to say. He watched the door closing behind her, then looked down at his hands. He'd gripped the edge of Morgana's breakfast tray so hard that it had left painful grooves across his palms. 

For a moment he stood very still, eyes closed. Then he returned to the day's tasks. The list had just gotten longer, after all.

Drawing the lady a bath was hard work. First he had to heat water in the laundry cellar's big copper vat, otherwise used for boiling sheets on washing day. Then he had to carry the water upstairs in two large buckets fastened to a yoke, moving up and down the stairs with his heavy load as fast as he could, so the water wouldn't cool too much before the tub in Morgana's chambers was full. 

Usually he and Gwen would help each other with such heavy tasks, and have a bit of a laugh while they worked. Doing it alone was more than twice as tedious.

Morgana herself sat quietly by her chamber window, an open book on her lap in the sunlight filtered through the thick glass. With the dark hair cascading down the back of her green robe and the pale and delicate skin of her hands and face she looked every inch a rich and noble lady.

Merlin emptied the last bucket into the tub and turned towards her as he drew a sleeve across his sweaty brow. Balancing the yoke once more on his aching shoulders, he bowed in her direction “The bath is ready, Lady Morgana.”

She looked up, seemingly startled out of her reverie. “Oh! Yes, thank you, Merlin. Now I only need the silver jug that I... never mind. I will manage the rest by myself. Gwen has spoiled me.” She drew a sharp breath. “That will be all.”

Dismissed, Merlin descended the stairs slowly, the empty buckets clanking as he set them down outside the kitchen. He would need them again once Morgana was finished. 

He felt very tired, and strangely downhearted. 

Cook had been delighted at the prospect of making a feast meal, even just for two, and had hurried off to the market. She was back now and working hectically in the kitchen. Merlin looked in on her for a moment, realizing she would need more firewood soon, and quietly fetched himself some bread and cheese and a cup of water. 

He sat down to eat on the stairs down to the cellars. That was the place where he was least likely to be disturbed. He needed time to collect himself. 

As the day drew to a close, Merlin was in the small dining room, laying the table with dinner plates, silver cutlery, crystal glasses and monogrammed napkins. He placed a water carafe next to the bottle of red wine that Cook had brought up from the wine cellar. The tall silver candlesticks that normally were kept in the room's mahogany side cupboard took pride of place in the middle of the table. He would soon have to light the candles. Daylight was dwindling fast. 

The door opened and Morgana entered the room. Merlin's heart sank. She looked stunning, dressed in green silk, her newly washed hair in loose ringlets across one shoulder and tied with a silk scarf matching her dress. Gold earrings caught the light when she moved. The golden chain around her neck disappeared down into her embroidered bodice as always. She smelled faintly of roses.

“Is everything ready? I'm hungry, I'm sure Arthur must be too.” 

Merlin nodded. “Shall I tell Cook to serve the first course?” 

“Yes, please do,” said Arthur from the doorway, coming to stand next to Morgana, eyeing her appreciatively. “You look very lovely tonight.”

She smiled, cocking her head at him. “I feel better. No headaches.” 

“Oh,” he said. “That's good.”

She reached out to pat his arm. “Let's eat! And do pour us some wine, dearest.”

Merlin hurried out the door and down to the kitchen. Mouth-watering smells swirled around him as he accepted the large tray from cook and carried it back to the dining room. Honey-glazed duck breasts on a bed of greens, she had told him. It looked very tempting. 

Morgana and Arthur were sitting down now, toasting each other with deep-red wine. 

Merlin put the tray down, his head lowered, and quickly went back for the sauce and the side dishes. 

Torn about what to do afterwards, he lingered near the table. Arthur looked up at him and smiled. “You may serve the meal now, Merlin, if you'd like to.”

As Merlin reached for the serving utensils, Morgana turned to Arthur, surprised. “If he likes to?” 

“Oh come, Morgana. This all looks delicious, but we are only two people and can manage on our own in a pinch. Merlin's had a long day. He works for two, while Gwen is gone.”

“Indeed,” Morgana said. “But has he taken over all Gwen's work, I wonder?”

Arthur shrugged. “What do you mean?”

“Does he work in your studio?

Arthur looked over at Merlin, smiling warmly. “Yes, he cleans it. Very capable work. I can hardly find inspiration while drowning in dust.”

“That's not what I meant. Is he your model now?”

“No,” Arthur said shortly, pouring more wine into her glass. “No, he is not. I am not painting at the moment, as you know. I do not need a model. Any model.” 

Merlin looked from one to the other of them. Arthur had been angry that time when Merlin asked whether Morgana was his model. He hadn't expected the two of them to speak so openly about this, when they'd always been so secretive before. 

Morgana looked at Arthur through her long dark lashes, sipping wine slowly from her glass. “You haven't found inspiration for your next painting, then? No motif that speaks to you?”

“No. But soon....”

“Oh, pish. You know well enough how you'll find inspiration. I don't understand why you're being so coy about it.”

Arthur's eyes swung pointedly in Merlin's direction. He frowned and rapped his knuckles sharply on the table. “Hush! Sometimes silence is golden, Morgana. ”

Morgana sipped her wine again, smiling into the crimson depths of her glass. She didn't wait to see what Merlin would do. Reaching out she placed her fingertips on her brother's arm. “This is a good night. Let's enjoy our dinner now, and then retreat to your studio and.... talk of inspiration.”

Arthur shifted on his seat, clenched his jaw, lifted his head and looked at his sister. Their eyes met and held for a long moment. 

Arthur nodded. 

Morgana gracefully lowered her head over her plate. Arthur gave his food all his attention too. For a while the clinking of cutlery and glass was all the noise in the room. That, and Merlin's heart, which was beating loudly and painfully. He edged towards the door, knowing that he should go. Yet he couldn't make himself leave. 

He looked at Morgana. Beautiful, mysterious, tormented, and gifted with Light. Was it a gift or a curse to her, a gift or a curse to Arthur? 

He stared at Arthur. Handsome Lord Arthur, with his celebrated talent and his good name and his ancestral mansion and inheritance. Enigmatic Lord Arthur, with his strange moods and his warm eyes and occasional kindness, his unyielding drive to excel in his art and bring Camelot's ancient glory back. 

Merlin didn't understand them. 

Suddenly and too late he became aware that Morgana was looking at him, empty glass in hand. Staring right into his hurt and confusion and longing. Merlin's eyes widened. She glanced at Arthur for a moment, then her eyes returned to meet Merlin's. He stood frozen, uncertain about what to do. But Morgana only turned away to retrieve the wine bottle, looking at it with a sigh, her expression unreadable. “Empty already,” she said to Arthur. “When I finally am well enough to drink wine, it's gone too soon!”

Arthur rose from his chair as if compelled. “We do need more wine. Let me fetch us one of the special occasion bottles.” 

Morgana smiled.

Arthur went right past Merlin without looking at him. When the door closed, Morgana dried her mouth daintily on the napkin, and sat for a moment with her eyes closed, suddenly looking tired and drawn. Then she squared her shoulders and rose from her chair. She walked over to Merlin, gripping his hand and lifting it between them. Her fingers pressed into the soft flesh of his wrist as she raised her face to his, her green eyes piercing. 

“Merlin. You must be careful. And keep your tongue. Remember how easily a servant can be dismissed. Remember how easily a servant can be lost in this big city. And if you ever spoke up against me or against Arthur, who do you think the world would believe? Who do you think _Arthur_ would believe?”

Merlin felt the blood slowly draining from his face. He tried to pull his hand away, but Morgana held on, digging her nails into his wrist. “Listen to me. I know this sounds like a threat,” she said. “Maybe it is. But I see that you are loyal to Arthur. He needs someone like you. I do not wish you harm. All I'm saying is, be careful. Maybe you are not aware that you're playing with fire? I'm warning you that you could get burned.” 

Just like that she dropped his hand, and returned to her chair without a backwards glance. Morgana sat down, slumped forward and rubbed her forehead with both hands. She exhaled heavily. 

Merlin finally found the use of his feet. He turned and fled. Stumbling down the stairs he met Arthur coming back up, bottle of wine in hand. He paused when he saw Merlin, seeming uncertain about what to do or say. 

Arthur frowned and rubbed his nose. He did not comment on Merlin's agitated appearance, but lowered his voice in a friendly manner. “Merlin, I was thinking.... how long is it since you had your half day off? You've been working far too much now that Gwen is away.”

Merlin tried to speak, but no words would come. His head hurt. 

“It's past time you had some time to yourself” Arthur continued. “I should have realized this before. Take the evening off. Go visit a tavern, have a little fun, get some rest. Morgana and I can manage on our own for a few hours. Don't worry about us.” 

This was the last straw. Arthur, stooping to pretend kindness to get him out of the house. Merlin muttered “Thank you, my lord, yes, the tavern, how nice,” and practically ran down the stairs, through the hallway, out of the house. He could hardly breathe, and he felt dizzy. 

It was getting dark. Clouds were rolling in. Merlin looked up to the sky, trying to think. 

He needed someone to talk to. Someone who could make sense of this. Someone he could trust.

He fled to Gaius.

 

**14\. The Gift of Light**

The rapid walk in the cool evening air helped calm Merlin's agitation a little. By the time he reached Apothecary street he felt reasonably collected. 

Gaius had closed his shop for the day. The door was locked and the windows shuttered. Nevertheless he replied from within the moment Merlin started banging on the door. 

“Yes, yes, I'm coming! I'm coming. Don't destroy my poor old door, please!”

There was the sound of a bolt sliding and a key turning, and Gaius peeked out, looking disgruntled. “Is there a fire somewhere? What can I... Merlin!”

“Gaius,” Merlin said, swallowing. To his dismay he felt his eyes suddenly brimming with tears.“I need... help. Help me. Please.”

Gaius pulled Merlin inside without saying a word, before looking down the street to the right and to the left. Everything was quiet. He carefully locked the door again. 

Merlin was breathing rapidly. He blinked to get rid of the tears, feeling nauseous and unwell, now hot, now cold. Gaius looked at him in the muted light and at once stepped right up to fold Merlin in his arms. He held him in a tight embrace, rocking slightly from side to side, gently patting his back, while Merlin fought to get himself back under control.

“Hush, Merlin, hush,” Gaius murmured. “Whatever it is, we'll work it out. Hush now, hush now.....” 

The low soothing voice and the comforting embrace eventually worked their spell. Merlin felt better. He stepped back, drew a deep breath and looked gratefully at Gaius.“There's something I need to talk to you about. Something secret. I shouldn't speak of it, but... I need to know. To understand.” 

Gaius met his eyes and nodded. “Let's go sit in my room. I was just brewing myself some tea. I think you could do with a cup too. Just wait a moment while I.... “ Gaius hurried over to the shelves where he kept some of his herbs. Lifting the lid on a covered glass jar, he scooped out a handful of crushed herbs, before waving Merlin through into his cramped and cluttered inner room. 

Merlin had felt comfortable and safe there when he stayed with Gaius immediately after arriving in Camelot. The same feelings returned to him now. He sighed, and sat down, slumping on the bench in front of the little hearth. 

The kettle was boiling. Gaius poured himself a cup of tea, then dropped his handful of herbs into the kettle and let it simmer a bit longer. “Something calming, just for you,” he said. 

Merlin followed his movements with tired eyes. For a while the faint bubbling of the tea water and the crackling of the small fire were the only sounds in the room. It reminded Merlin of home. 

There was a pleasant smell of chamomile and lemon balm as Gaius poured Merlin a large cup of the fresh brew and sat down next to him, patting him gently on the arm. “Now tell me what has happened. Why are you so upset?”

Merlin discovered that he didn't quite know where to begin. The secrets of House Pendragon were not his to divulge. And as for his own secrets – how could he speak about them? How would he know where to begin?

“What can you tell me about the Gift of Light?” he blurted. 

“Ah,” Gaius sighed. “I thought that might be it. Is this to do with Lady Morgana, or with yourself?”

Merlin gaped at him, dumbfounded. 

“You do not have to answer that. Forgive an old man for prying.” Gaius paused for a moment, then nodded, as if he'd come to a decision. “I know something about the Gift, that's true. I've lived a long life and have seen many things. What is it that you want to know?” 

Merlin shook his head, uncertain. He wanted everything, anything, something to make him understand. “What is the Gift? What does it do? Why is it punishable by death?”

“The Gift of Light,” Gaius mused. “It is very telling to me that it is still called a 'gift', even now that it is illegal to use it. For it is indeed a gift, but a dangerous one. There is no point in the prohibition and the punishment, though – those who have the Gift must release the power in some way, or they cannot live. Forcing them to use it in secret only increases the risks.”

He was silent for a moment, weighing his words, looking at Merlin. “I don't believe anyone knows where it originates, or how it chooses those who become mages. Light-mage, that was the title of old. Maybe it's pure coincidence. Maybe there's a higher meaning. Sometimes it runs in families. At any rate, the Gift of Light is a power. A power to create, and to destroy. Light creates, fire destroys. A mage has the ability to wield both. But learning to control that power was never easy, even when it is in its earliest, weakest phase. And the stronger it gets, the more overwhelming it becomes, or so it was said.”

Merlin was listening intently. It was a relief to hear someone speak aloud about this, someone with genuine knowledge about it. 

He took a large gulp of his tea. The hot drink was soothing. 

Gaius studied him, his voice calm and measured as he continued. “There is a dangerous side to the power. It preys on the mind, demands outlets, does not want to be controlled. It can turn dark and cruel. Mages must fight to resist the power and many times lose those battles. The destructive side needs something to balance it out, another power equally strong, one that seeks the opposite of dominion and control. That power, the other side of the coin, is love. Selfless love for another human being. Using the Gift of Light in the service of true love makes it governable, makes it a force for creating, building, and protecting. An immense power for good – in the old days, whole cities grew to glory because of the Gift of Light.” 

Gaius fell silent and swirled his cold tea around in its cup. His eyes grew distant. “The problem was, of course, that very few among us fallible humans, and few among mages, ever achieve true love. But that was what it took to truly harness the Gift of Light: a beloved with capacity and drive for greatness and for good, a soul mate who won a mage's unconditional love, someone who was truly worthy of the gift of both love and of Light.”

Gaius turned towards Merlin, his gaze sharp once more and his expression one of concern. “Forgive me for speaking in such melodramatic terms, Merlin my boy. It must all seem very far-fetched and pompous to you, not like your own experiences in life. 

Merlin had listened intently, nearly in a rapture. He shook his head at Gaius vehemently. True, this was far removed from the everyday talk about ordinary things that he was used to. Gaius's words were solemn and grand and larger than life, but they reverberated within Merlin, striking a high clear note of recognition. He felt as if he was rediscovering something he'd once known, but since forgotten. 

True love - he was reminded of his parents, of the love and laughter and happiness they'd shared when he was a small boy. His mother certainly hadn't stopped loving when life took a turn for the worse and became a thankless struggle. She had never stopped caring. And he was his mother's son.

Merlin felt frightened, but also exhilarated. The way ahead, paved with fears and hopes and premonitions, was becoming clearer to him. 

A thought struck him. “Does Morgana know all this?”

“Yes,” Gaius said. He didn't elaborate. 

Merlin looked at him. “Does Arthur know?”

“That I truly do not know.” Gaius hesitated. “He does know _something_. The Pendragon family history, their triumphs and their more recent downfall, is tied very closely to the Gift. But Arthur has never spoken to me about that, and I do not know his mind. He keeps his own counsel. What he believes deep down may depend on what he has been told by Uther, his father, and by Morgana. And where the Gift of Light is concerned, those two could hardly have been further apart.”

Merlin was confused. “But wasn't Lord Uther Morgana's father too? Isn't she Arthur's sister after all?”

“She is. Well, she is his half sister, two years older than him. Uther created a tragic tangle with his two marriages. But I suppose no-one is the master of his own heart. And Uther certainly paid for his actions, - although he exacted a heavy price in revenge.”

Merlin's wide eyes asked his questions for him.

“A long time ago, near to thirty years by now, Uther Pendragon married Nimueh du Lac. Lady Nimueh had the Gift of Light, and Uther knew it. I think it is fair to say that it was mostly a marriage of convenience on his part, but not on hers. She loved him deeply, and believed that she had found her soul mate, the one who would help her channel her Gift into great deeds. She came from a family of modest wealth and influence, and Uther certainly married her less for the family alliance than for the benefit of her powers. He wanted her Gift to further his business ventures, and thereby to increase both his own glory and that of the City of Camelot.” Gaius paused for a moment. “You are aware he was once the mayor of Camelot?”

“Yes, Gwen told me.”

Gaius sighed. “Well. Morgana was born in the first year of the marriage. And then, when the little girl was just one year old, Uther met the Lady Ygraine de Bois. To say that he fell head over heels for her would be an understatement. He was as a man besotted, a soul enchanted. And Ygraine loved him deeply in return. Unlike Uther and Nimueh, those two truly _were_ soul mates. Ygraine had a very difficult time of it, loving and being courted by a married man. But Uther didn't wait long. He put his wife to the side, and publicly proclaimed himself divorced from her. Her family was not powerful enough to object, and Uther paid them handsomely to secure their acquiescence.”

Gaius's closed his eyes, calling forth a memory. “I was there on the day when Uther and Ygraine married. There was no doubt they were deeply in love. Each of them had eyes only for the other. Nine months later, Arthur was born.”

“Oh,” Merlin said, stunned. 

“Scorning a woman with the Gift was never a wise thing to do. Uther learned that soon, but not soon enough. I do not know what he had thought would happen, whether he truly believed that Nimueh would leave him and Ygraine in peace and accept their union. He may have been counting on Nimueh's love for him to last, even then. But it did not. She was a very powerful mage, and her revenge was devastating. She started raining destruction down on House Pendragon. Ships capsized in unforeseen storms, storehouses were hit by lightning, land was flooded or destroyed by drought. And then after several trying years, Ygraine died.” 

Merlin gasped. 

“Yes, Ygraine sickened and died, despite every doctor's and apothecary's art. I tried my best to help her myself, but to no avail. Uther was devastated at her passing, but he lived on, becoming an increasingly broken and bitter man. That must surely have been Nimueh's intention. But before he relinquished his duties as Mayor, he fought back. He managed to get the Gift of Light banned, arguing that the cruel and vengeful actions of his first wife were more than enough proof that the Gift was dangerous and not to be trusted. The people of Camelot readily agreed. They were frightened. If Uther Pendragon could go down, anyone could be destroyed. Since then it has been considered bad luck in Camelot even to mention Uther's misfortune. And so the Gift of Light was banished and forbidden, and Uther raised his two children in bitterness and grief in his large and empty mansion, the only property left to him.... “

“Morgana was left with Uther?” Merlin interrupted him, astonished. “ Didn't Nimueh want her daughter to be kept far away from him and his influence? Why didn't she bring Morgana along when she left?”

“I do not know,” Gaius said. “Maybe she didn't want to care for a child, so she could focus on her fury and her battle? Maybe she wanted Morgana to be a constant reminder to Uther of his betrayal. Or maybe.... maybe she left Morgana as a cuckoo in the nest, one that would one day continue her revenge and wreak havoc in the next generation?”

Merlin stared at Gaius with wide eyes, aghast. His mind was reeling.

“You see now what I meant when I said Morgana has had no easy life,” Gaius said quietly. “Her migraines and her nightmares are to be expected.”

Merlin nodded slowly, trying to collect his thoughts. Gaius's herbs were taking effect. His eyelids were growing heavy. “What... what happened to Lady Nimueh?”

“A few years after Ygraine's death there was news from Caerleon. Nimueh had been captured there, and immediately been burned at the stake. Every land and city feared her by then. But the witnesses to her death tell conflicting stories. Who knows? At any rate she has not been seen or heard from since. It's more than likely that she actually is dead. The Gift of Light is not kind to those that wield it the way she did.”

Merlin yawned. It was late night by now. He needed to think about all that Gaius had told him, about the Gift of Light, the dramatic history of the Pendragons, and most of all about Arthur and Morgana. But the intense emotions of the long tumultuous day, Gaius's soporific tea, and the wealth of new information were taking their toll. 

Merlin fell into exhausted sleep on the bench in front of the hearth with its few smouldering embers. Gaius quietly tucked a pillow under his head and covered him with a blanket, before blowing out the candles and seeking his own bed. 

 

**15\. The calm after the storm**

Merlin woke to the smell of freshly brewed black tea. Gaius had breakfast ready, and greeted him with a friendly smile. 

“Good morning! Whether peace or strife, without food no life,” he said, quoting a proverb, and pushing a bowl and spoon toward Merlin. “And a good wash improves life too,” Gaius added, sniffing as Merlin sat down. He pointedly looked in the direction of a pot of water bubbling over the fire. 

Merlin yawned, scrubbed a hand through his hair and rubbed his eyes. “Food first,” he muttered, and started wolfing down the porridge Gaius had cooked, not wasting any words. He felt better. The morning light seemed to have chased off the worst of the night worries. He was calmer and ready to face a new day at the Pendragons'.

“Will you want to find new employment?” Gaius asked. “Or is it too early for you to say? A number of lords and wealthy merchants have left Camelot with their entire families, staying in the country while the risk of pestilence remains high, but there are always those in need of new servants. I could help you look for a position.”

“No, oh no. I do not want to leave Lord Arthur... leave House Pendragon, I mean. I belong there now.”

“I see.” Gaius nodded slowly. “Arthur, and Morgana too, both seem to instil a deep sense of loyalty in those few they allow to come close to them. But if you ever change your mind, you know where to find me.”

“You have helped me much already, telling me all that you did last night. There was so much I didn't know. I didn't understand - I felt that I was lost in a fog and walking blindly. But thanks to you I can hopefully find the road ahead.”

Gaius reached over the table to pat Merlin's shoulder. “I'm glad. Mind that you do not allow that road to become too steep and bumpy. Now, if you are returning to House Pendragon, you'd better hurry. There will be fires to be lit and food to be served. This is just another day.”

Merlin was all too aware of time passing, and made ready to leave, grateful for the hot water to wash in. As he stepped out the door, Gaius handed him a small clinking bundle, tightly wrapped. “New vials of sleeping potion and calming draughts for Morgana. She needs a new supply, and you do perhaps need a reason why you went visiting me? And here....” Gaius fumbled around in one of the deep pockets of his robe, and brought forth a small slip of parchment. “Take this. If you ever have the need for my help and can't visit me here, find a way to send me this, and I'll come to you.” 

Merlin stared at the signs on the parchment with curiosity. Not for the first time he wished he knew how to read. “What does it say?”

“It simply says _'Come to me.'_ That is enough. I will know who it's from. Now take care, my boy.”

Merlin smiled gratefully at Gaius. He pocketed the message, tucked the package under one arm, and left.

He returned to find House Pendragon peaceful and quiet. Not even Morgause seemed to be about. 

Merlin peeked into the dining room. The dirty dishes, leftovers and empty bottles from last night's tumultuous dinner had been stacked haphazardly on the side table. “Work, work, work,” he muttered to himself. Just another day indeed.

He prepared two breakfast trays, leaving one outside Morgana's chambers and the other outside Arthur's. He knocked on each door without waiting for a response. If there was no-one inside, - if Arthur and Morgana had not yet returned to their chambers after a night spent together in the studio, - the waiting trays would show them that Merlin still remembered propriety, even if they themselves seemed to have forgotten.

That done, Merlin set about doing the dinner dishes. 

During the next few days, life returned to normal. As far as Arthur was concerned, it was a happier normal and a lighter mood. He spoke kindly to Merlin, but seemed a little distant, as if he was holding himself in check. But when he went out of doors, it was almost always with bundles of rolled paper and charcoal pencils under his arm. He seemed to be finding inspiration everywhere, and was furiously making drawings and sketches early in the morning and late at night, his hands – and sometimes his face - constantly smudged with black. There was an eager light in his eyes, sometimes with a manic edge.

Merlin kept his own counsel, observing the new and invigorated Arthur, but never speaking out of turn. When Morgana was about he made especially certain to keep his eyes to himself and his head carefully lowered over one chore or another. Morgana for her part didn't speak to him beyond orders and requests related strictly to the running of the household.

The Pendragon siblings now also resumed their habit of going out together on the town. Rumour had it that the risk of contagion was over, and that the quarantines would very soon be lifted. Life in Camelot was picking up speed again. 

Merlin was sweeping the front stairs one day when a rented carriage halted before the house. A few minutes later Arthur and Morgana stepped out of the front door together. They looked relaxed and were well dressed. Morgana in particular looked resplendent in a crimson dress with pearl embroidery on the bodice. It flattered her complexion nicely. Merlin stepped quickly to the side to let them pass. As they walked down the stairs towards the carriage he heard Arthur chuckling at something Morgana was saying. He only caught the tail end of her words.

“...and very charming!”

“I still think he's a charlatan. The only truly grand thing about him is his opinion of himself.”

“Oh, shush. He is talented and his art is interesting. I don't understand why you won't admit it.”

“Talented at grooming his hair, maybe. He seems to be in love with it.”

“Well, a man in love is generally a happy and delightful companion, Arthur.” 

Arthur laughed again. “If that was a barb aimed at me it missed the mark. I truly don't know why I'm visiting his studio. The things I do for you, Morgana!”

“Are as nothing, compared to the things I do for _you_ , dear brother.”

Morgana had the last word. As far as Merlin could tell, nothing more was said until they both were comfortably installed in the carriage, which pulled off in a small cloud of dust.

Pondering their conversation, Merlin slowly went down the broad stairs. He needed to re-sweep the lower steps.

The very next day the quarantine was lifted, and Gwen came back. She stood at the side door, looking thinner than Merlin remembered her, but beaming with joy. 

Elyan had pulled through, though he would still require more time to recuperate. Gwen and her father had tended to him night and day the first week. With the quarantine and the added fear that the pestilence might strike them down too, they had had a trying time of it. 

“Although Lancelot was a big help,” Gwen said, and blushed. “He stayed on in the smiths' quarters. He didn't want to leave Elyan after all their time together, until he knew... you know.” 

“Are you sure he stayed on only for Elyan?” Merlin smiled. He enjoyed seeing Gwen flustered at the talk of the handsome and chivalrous ship's guard. 

Gwen opened her mouth to reply, but didn't have time to reply before there was a delighted shout from upstairs. 

“Gwen! You're back!” 

Morgana came rushing down the stairs, her robe and loose hair streaming behind her. “It's such a relief to see you! I've been so worried!” She enfolded her maid in a fierce embrace. 

Merlin stepped aside and watched Gwen beaming over Morgana's shoulder as the two women continued to hug each other. Morgana seemed entirely sincere in her delight. He remembered Gaius's words about the Pendragons inspiring loyalty. Whatever Morgana was otherwise up to, he could not doubt that she held real affection for Gwen. There was more to the lady than her disquieting and enigmatic powers and her unwholesome hold on Arthur. That was a useful and somehow comforting reminder. 

 

**16\. Artist and model**

Arthur sat hunched over a table overflowing with sketches, rifling through them and muttering monosyllable comments to himself. He seemed intensely focused and lost to the world, but Merlin nevertheless walked on tip-toes as he dusted the objects on the studio's shelves. 

The silver pitcher was gone, he noticed. And Arthur's next painting was still waiting as an ivory-coloured canvas on its easel, as yet untouched by pencil or paint.

It was a hot and sunny late afternoon, and sunlight slanted in bright shafts across the studio floor. Merlin had put aside his coat and was only wearing his blue tunic and red neckerchief. Dust-motes danced like snow flurries in the light as he wielded his mop. He hoped Arthur wouldn't notice and think his cleaning efforts inadequate.

Arthur muttered something to himself again, drummed his fingers on the tabletop and leaned back in his chair, pushing the sheets of paper to the side. He groaned. 

“There are so many sketches here that are _almost_ right, almost... they're like pieces of a puzzle that nag at me, but I can't get it right, because the central piece is missing. I know it's coming, it's just out of reach, at the edge of my mind....”

Merlin stepped closer in the hope of getting to study some of Arthur's puzzle piece sketches. 

Arthur looked up at him, a frown on his face. His eyes went wide. “Stop!” He shouted, jumping up from his chair as if suddenly stung. “Stand right there and don't move!” 

Merlin froze.“What?” 

Arthur hurried up to him, looking at his face intently, moving around him to study it from every angle. 

Merlin bit his lip and followed Arthur with his eyes. He felt very self-conscious. “What is it? Is there something on my face? Have I done something wrong?”

“No, you have cheekbones,” Arthur muttered to Merlin's surprise. “And that sloping ray of sunlight... and your blue tunic against the pale skin... the shadows and light....the lines, the contrasts!” He reached out to grasp Merlin's chin, tilting his head this way and that, scrutinizing him as if he were an inanimate object. 

“Perfect. Yes... The light from the side is perfect. And those eyes...” Arthur traced Merlin's left cheek with searching fingers, feeling the planes of his face, sliding a fingertip along his jawline, humming in approval. Merlin stood as still as a statue. His heart fluttered wildly. Clammy sweat broke out on his upper lip. His skin felt cold except where Arthur's touches were like licks of fire, although they were strangely impersonal. 

He looked into Arthur's bright eyes, so close to his own, and stopped breathing. There was a piercing joy in Arthur's expression that Merlin had never seen before, a presence and uncompromising focus. There was nothing kind or soft or comfortable about it, and Merlin felt light-headed from being subjected to Arthur's undivided attention. 

“You wanted to help me, isn't that so, Merlin?” he grinned. “You will. I have found my next motif – you.”

Arthur let go of Merlin's face with a last little touch of his fingertips. His eyes were blazing. The whole man seemed filled with the glow of euphoria, and the setting sun caressed his golden hair.

“M-me?” 

“Just you. Nothing else. With that beam of sunlight slanting across your face. It's perfect. We'll start tomorrow.”

“T-tomorrow,” Merlin heard himself stammer, and bit his lip, annoyed at himself. 

“I need to prepare the canvas, decide on the paints and brushes... and the sun is going down. There won't be light here for much longer. Not the right light. Come up here tomorrow afternoon. Wear your blue tunic – that colour is perfect – but not that red rag. I don't want anything obscuring your neck. The colours, the angles, the textures – ah! Is that understood?”

“Yes, my lord,” Merlin said, overwhelmed. He shivered. He had never seen Arthur display such passion. There would be no denying him anything in this mood.

Arthur turned away from him, then abruptly turned back, grabbed Merlin's shoulders, reeled him in and landed a loud kiss right on the tip of his nose. “Wonderful! Now be off! Leave me! I need to... I need to....” 

Merlin stumbled away, dazed. Arthur didn't look at him again, he was too busy rooting around in his box of paint vials.

That night Merlin crept back up the stairs, candle in hand, seeking the mirror in the great hall's antechamber. 

As a few flickering candle flames barely pushed the shadows back, he studied himself in the mirror. Looking deep into his own shadowed eyes he found tranquillity and resolve. He slowly reached up to remove his red neckerchief. He always wore it now, and felt exposed and vulnerable without it. Dropping the red cloth to the side he felt his own skin with gentle fingertips, stroking his throat and collarbones, tracing his lips. The sensitive skin tingled under his touch. He shivered again. 

Arthur would observe all this, would do this. Would preserve it for eternity.

He noticed Kilgharrah's leather cord around his neck, and Merlin's heart sank as he realized he would have to remove his dragon guardian. Without the neckerchief the cord would be visible and in the way. Arthur wanted no distractions, just plain and pale expanses of skin.

Slowly he pulled Kilgharrah out from under his tunic. He held the medallion gently in the palm of his hand and stroked it with a finger. “Without you I'll be unprotected, laid bare. I do it for Arthur, you see,” he whispered. “Only for him.”

The dragon moved lazily within its bright confining circle, trailing light, its eyes blazing. The medallion felt hot to the touch. 

“Arthur,” Merlin whispered again, looking from the writhing dragon back up at himself in the mirror, wonderingly meeting his own gaze. In the dim room his eyes glowed. Golden eyes, bright and brimming with the power of Light. 

Merlin drew a sharp breath, blinked and took a step back. Oh, he'd known for some time, he'd felt certain it had to be so, but seeing the final confirmation, knowing that there could be no escape.... 

He closed his fist firmly around Kilgharrah, blew out the candles and hurried back down to bed. 

In the safety of his little dark den he felt as if something had shifted inside of him. Something had expanded and made room for strength, but also for fear. 

His future was shrouded in darkness, and his fate was a mystery. The answers still felt out of reach. All he could do was to bravely face the light of each new day. But for now he welcomed rest and peace. He fell into deep and dreamless sleep, and Kilgharrah slept next to him all through the night, curled in an endless circle of gemstone fire.

 

**17\. The boy with a diamond pendant**

Camelot was blessed with a spell of clear and sunny weather, and warm sunlight filled Arthur's studio. The coloured fabrics of wall-hangings and upholstery glowed, and insubstantial columns of brilliant light across the floor made the studio look like an enchanted castle. The chandelier created sparkling rainbows on the walls, adding to the magical mood.

Every afternoon that week Merlin went up to the studio and posed in the middle of the floor, sunlight streaming in from the side, highlighting and caressing the left side of his face. 

No-one questioned his frequent absences downstairs, for Morgana was wracked with a new spell of severe migraines and had to stay in her chambers behind shuttered windows. Gwen spent much time tending to the lady. She was happy to be back in service, but pleased that Merlin had taken over the duties in Arthur's studio. 

“I do want to stay close to Lady Morgana, now she's doing so poorly,” Gwen told Merlin. “And if Lancelot should come to see me now and then, it would be lovely with a little time to spare.” She dropped her eyes but couldn't help smiling at Merlin's raised eyebrow. 

Arthur worked like a man possessed. He had positioned his easel at an angle to Merlin, and after having finished the outline drawing he began painting in earnest, wielding his brushes with flair and precision. Once the softly-coloured underpainting was done, ultramarine held pride of place on Arthur's palette. But there was a whole spectrum of colours, many of them surprisingly sombre.

Arthur had pulled the work table away from the wall and had filled it with cloths and vials, oils and paint pastes, and tall glasses holding brushes and pencils. To one side stood two mugs and a large earthenware jug filled with water, which both artist and model drank from when Arthur needed a break to flex his fingers and loosen up his shoulders, or when Merlin was about to collapse from standing still on his feet too long.

While Arthur was painting him, Merlin couldn't move much, but his eyes followed every gesture and expression. 

Arthur was dressed in a loose white shirt, nearly translucent in the bright light, its sleeves pushed back to allow him freedom of movement. He looked graceful and controlled. The shirt and his hands and arms became increasingly paint-stained as each day wore on. He kept squinting as he focused on his canvas, then studied Merlin. His lips were looking raw and chapped. He chewed them as he concentrated on his work. 

Arthur had arranged Merlin that first day as if he were a mannequin. He'd moved his limbs this way and that, positioning his body, tilting his face to catch the light just so, and pulling the blue tunic open at the neck to show more skin. He'd ruffled Merlin's dark hair before flattening it briefly with the palm of his hand, tracing the shell of Merlin's left ear with a finger. “Hmmm.....” 

Merlin let himself be handled. Arthur's hands felt completely at home on his body. He looked into Arthur's eyes, intent and focused while he worked, and was suffused with both pleasant heat and a strange calm, a strong sense of belonging. It was as if he gave himself fully over into Arthur's care. 

He felt as if he was not only standing in a beam of sunlight, but was also resting safely in a dome of his own private Light. He barely managed to keep it in check when it wanted to spill over and out into the world, across the floors and down the stairs to fill the whole of Camelot with jubilant radiance. 

But as the days passed and the painting progressed, Arthur became increasingly short-tempered. He muttered to himself in frustration, drying the brush on a cloth with abrupt movements, jabbing at the palette. He paused for long periods, studying the canvas without saying anything. A veritable thundercloud seemed to be forming over his head, and Merlin didn't understand why. 

Finally he could not stand Arthur's dark mood any longer. “You seem displeased. Is something wrong, Lord Arthur?”

“Yes it bloody well is!” Arthur shouted, then took a step back in dismay. “Yes, but it isn't your fault, Merlin. I'm sorry. I just can't find the right balance, and there's something about the light....it eludes me. 

“May I see?” Merlin hadn't asked to see the painting before, willing to wait until Arthur invited him, but now he couldn't resist. 

“You might as well. I was planning to finish it before you saw it, but never mind that now. Come here, look!” Arthur reached for Merlin and practically dragged him around the easel so he faced the painting full-on. 

“This is it,” Arthur said, standing next to Merlin and eyeing the canvas critically. “What do you think?”

“Oh,” Merlin said, amazed. 

He was staring into his own face, angled to the left, looking quiet and pensive, almost sad. A bright beam of sunlight illuminated parts of his features, dividing his face into light and dark planes. His hair and most of his tunic were cast in shadow. The painting's overall colour scheme was sombre, but where sunlight streamed across skin and clothing everything glowed with warm light. The blue tunic seemed to be not only reflecting the light, but enriching it. The close proximity to the the tunic's beautiful ultramarine added depth and life to Merlin's pale skin, his face and figure. 

It was a quieter painting than Merlin had expected. It focused on him exclusively – there were no interiors, no pretty objects to distract a viewer. There was only him, his clear eyes, the light, and the dark.

“Oh,” he said again. He found no words. 

Arthur looked at him, a small crooked smile on his lips. “Your silence is probably the highest praise you could give me. You think it's good. Thank you, Merlin. And it is. But it should be better.”

Arthur tapped one finger against his lips. “There's something missing, and I don't know...”

“Light,” Merlin said without hesitation. “It's too dark.”

Arthur cast him a look. “It's supposed to be dark. The one beam of light that crosses your face is symbolic. But I agree that the balance between light and dark isn't quite right.” 

Arthur chewed his lower lip, thinking furiously. Suddenly he laughed aloud and startled Merlin. “Of course! It's so obvious! There needs to be more light in the lower half, as a balance and in counterpoint, do you see? And not just any light – not just some puny candle.... Oh, I see it now. I know what to do. I finally see the light, as it were,” Arthur chuckled to himself. 

Merlin was nonplussed. 

Arthur patted Merlin briefly on the back. “We'll continue tomorrow,” he said.

“Why not now?” 

“You'll see,” Arthur said. With a spring in his step he went to the table and started sorting through his pigments. He still had a happy gleam in his eye when Merlin left the studio. 

The next day at midday Gwen took a tray of food, a posy of violets and one vial each of Gaius's sleep draughts and migraine remedy up to Morgana's chamber. Merlin was surprised to see Arthur joining her. “I want to see how she's doing, cheer her up a little if I may,” he heard Arthur saying to Gwen. 

“That's very kind, my lord. She will appreciate that,” Gwen responded, expertly carrying the large tray as she climbed the stairs without snagging her feet on her long skirt. 

Merlin didn't see Arthur afterwards and didn't know how long he'd stayed with Morgana. Wonder and unease warred in Merlin's heart as he went about his duties during the day. A premonition of dangers to come kept tugging at his mind. 

When it finally was time for him to return to the studio that afternoon, Arthur was there, ready with palette and easel, welcoming Merlin with a mischievous smile. 

“Here is the solution to our riddle!” he said, shaking a shimmering object out of a blue silk cloth and dangling it on its golden chain in front of Merlin's eyes. “This is what the painting lacks!”

Merlin took a step back. “That's.... that's..”

“Morgana's diamond pendant, yes.” Arthur let the jewel swing gently on its chain, making it into a pendulum that flashed hypnotically in the sunlight. “She is sleeping. She doesn't need it just now.” 

Merlin looked from Arthur back to the diamond. “She lent it to you?”

There was a flash of guilt in Arthur's eyes. “Not exactly, no. I sat by her while the pain remedy and sleeping draught took effect, and then... I simply borrowed it. It's really none of your business though, is it, Merlin?” Arthur huffed. “This is what the painting needs, and therefore this is what we'll do.”

“Were you there to make sure she drank it all?” The words left a bitter taste in Merlin's mouth.

Arthur shrugged, suddenly frowning.”Need I remind you of your position? Stop chattering. Let's get to work.” 

He guided Merlin to his usual position on the floor, arranging him just so. Merlin felt stiff and wooden, his limbs unresponsive and his sense of unease deepening. Finally, Arthur grasped Merlin's right hand and placed the diamond in it, bending his arm up against his chest. The diamond rested right below his heart. Merlin's fingers gently curled around the gemstone, cupping it and directing its reflected light across his left arm and out into the room. The golden chain trailed between his fingers and dangled downwards.

The gemstone was cold, and yet it seemed to burn his hand, the way ice burns. There was a deep sense of _wrongness_ to it. The diamond's many facets sliced sharp, cold light into a multitude of brilliant, piercing points, stabbing at his very being.

“I do not think this is...” he began.

Arthur shook his head at him emphatically. “Don't _think_ , Merlin. It's possibly not your strongest suit. The balance of the light and dark - I'm telling you, this is perfect. Now stand still. You're about to become a masterpiece.” 

Merlin looked down and drew a deep breath, closing his eyes against the overwhelming sensations. Cold sweat broke out across his body. His knees threatened to buckle. There was a searing pain behind his eyes. This had to be the power of Light at work, and it felt malevolent, unmanageable, and hungry. Eating its way into his heart and mind, it demanded that he should yield, that he should bring Arthur along and follow its bright white lead into a tempting state of madness and abandon. The biting chill of it made him numb. Merlin shuddered.

Still, he told himself he could endure this for a little while, for Arthur. He'd do anything for Arthur. It wouldn't last very long, after all. 

Arthur did not seem to notice that anything was amiss. He was standing at a distance now, next to the easel, studying the picture that Merlin presented him with. “Brilliant. Just right. Yes,” he murmured excitedly, his expression almost ravenous. “That's it.”

He grabbed his palette, wiping off his brush and dipping it into the paint. He worked in a steadily building frenzy, his eyes drawn over and over again to the gem and its light, a sheen of tortured delight in his eyes. 

Merlin fought the diamond with all his willpower and all his heart. He tried to make sense of the fractured and jumbled sensations and emotions that coursed through him. There was a barrage of cold despair and bitterness, a desperate craving for love and a selfish willingness to stop at nothing. There was icy hatred and something like a wild, hysterical laughter welling up in the light and enveloping him, willing him to succumb to those same emotions, to act on his desires, to use any means. As he continued to fight it his eyes filled with tears of pain and fear. 

A harsh glaring light spilled from the diamond, illuminating the entire room.

Could Arthur not sense this? Could he not see?

Merlin remained still for a long time while Arthur worked, his single-minded focus shifting back and forth between the canvas and the diamond. He hardly looked at his model.

“Arthur,” Merlin eventually began, his voice strained.

“Shut up! Don't distract me! Can't you make even this little effort, when you know how important this is?” Arthur snapped. His eyes didn't rise to meet Merlin's.

Merlin was stunned. But the deep hurt he felt at Arthur's callous words made everything clear. The diamond was dangerous, not only to him. He felt a surge of fire rise up within him, a new will to resist and fight back. Slowly it deflected the diamond's light, dimming it, pushing it out of his consciousness. 

“We need a rest _now_. We must stop,” he said clearly. 

Immediately his knees buckled. He tumbled forward, exhausted. The diamond with its heavy golden chain fell from his numb fingers and hit the floor. It was a relief to be rid of the thing. 

“Merlin!” Arthur looked up, horrified. Throwing the brush and palette on the table, he hurried over, dropping down on his knees beside Merlin. “Are you hurt?” Carefully placing an arm around Merlin's shoulders he pulled him up into sitting position, feeling his brows.

“Are you ill?” Arthur took his hand. “I don't know what came over me. The painting's good, yes, and I want to just work and work whenever the light... whenever the inspiration is this strong, but I don't want to harm you. You're so pale!”

Arthur's worried eyes so close to his own was a balm to Merlin's frayed nerves. He smiled weakly. “It's very warm here, with the sun, and I'd been standing still for a long time. With some water to drink, and a little rest, I'll be right as rain.”

“Of course.” Arthur carefully released him and got up to fetch the jug of water and both their mugs. 

“Here, have a cup. Let's have a little picnic right here on the floor,” he said, sitting down next to Merlin. Arthur watched as Merlin slowly lifted the cup to his lips and started to drink, first a sip and then one thirsty swallow after the other, his throat working with every refreshing gulp. 

Merlin emptied the cup and groaned. The water was cool and delicious, and he was so tired. Surely he could just lie here on the floor for a while. He needed rest. He closed his eyes.

“This won't do at all,” Arthur said. Bending over Merlin, he lifted him easily in his arms and carried him across the floor. 

Merlin's head lolled on his shoulders. “I can walk!” he protested.

“Well, now we're doing it like this,” Arthur said firmly, laying Merlin down on the soft and very comfortable bed. “You can rest here, and sleep, for as long as you need. We'll continue tomorrow, if you're well enough.” 

Merlin's eyelids were heavy, but he managed to open his eyes at the sound of Arthur's footsteps, moving away from him. He watched Arthur walking over to the diamond pendant, picking it up from the floor with a paint-stained hand and examining it closely. He sent a small relieved smile in Merlin's direction. “No harm done, fortunately,” he said. “Bad enough I borrowed it without leave. Morgana would have killed me if I caused any damage to this.”

 _”She may kill you if it is kept intact,”_ Merlin thought in bleak reply. But he didn't speak. These were dangerous waters, and he was completely exhausted. 

Arthur was coming back to him, diamond in hand, and it finally hit Merlin where he was; - on the studio bed, under the brightly coloured lengths of cloth, on the silk sheets that he'd never previously touched! He sat up with a jolt, swinging his feet down to the floor. The abrupt movement made his head reel. “I can't rest here!”

“Of course you can,” Arthur said, sitting down next to him. He placed his palm on Merlin's chest and gently pushed him backwards. “It's all right. Lie down. Rest and be easy. I acted like a selfish prat. I'm sorry.”

“No, no, I have to...”

“Hush, Merlin.” Arthur was very close, his expression fond, and his voice kind. He smiled. “Your work duties can wait. What must I do to make you stay here for a little while? Perhaps I should...” 

With a quick movement, he lifted the golden chain and placed it around Merlin's neck, keeping a firm grip on the diamond pendant at the end, pulling Merlin closer. 

Merlin could feel the chain rubbing the skin of his neck. He was stunned. His defences were down, and he hadn't expected this. “No!”

“What?” Arthur relaxed his grip on the diamond and chain, looking surprised. “Why do you want to leave so badly?” 

The gem had sprung to life at once, weakening Merlin's will. Its threats and promises were much louder in his mind than Arthur's voice. Radiant light spilled out between Arthur's fingers, enveloping the both of them in intense brightness. They sat for a moment without moving, without speaking, connected by the golden chain. 

Arthur looked into Merlin's eyes, and the smile dropped from his lips. His fist closed more firmly around the diamond. Merlin let himself be pulled forward. 

Arthur's eyes reflected the light. His beautiful, bright eyes. It was hypnotic. Merlin pushed closer. Having Arthur this near felt like touches on the most secret parts of his body, hot and alluring. With a small sigh he succumbed to the diamond's siren song and Arthur's glorious, luminous eyes. He didn't want to resist any more. He didn't want to leave. He would be happy living and dying in this powerful light, next to this man. 

Merlin's lips parted. 

Arthur held on to the gem, but his other hand came up to cup the back of Merlin's head. 

The diamond blazed triumphantly between them. 

Merlin's eyelids sank helplessly shut. He knew his eyes had to be glowing. His mind was filled with a desperate hunger, a frenzied desire to take and hold, use and be used, an urge to dominate and devour, - and the knowledge that he should not ever let Arthur go as long as the Light told him to hold tight. 

Their lips met. The kiss was the sweetest, most jarring experience of Merlin's life. It was bliss. It was the pain of a frost bite in his heart. He couldn't stop. Arthur moaned. The kiss deepened. Merlin never wanted it to end. 

They were sinking back now on coloured sheets, moving together like one single body, one blind desire.

The door to the studio was ripped open, and Morgana's scream cut the air like a knife. “Arthur Pendragon! I hate you!”

 

**18\. A time for truths**

Arthur released Merlin and the diamond, and sprang to his feet as if prodded at sword-point. 

Morgana wasted no time on further recriminations or accusations. She had eyes only for one thing. Rushing across the floor, she descended on Merlin like a fury, grasping the golden necklace and ripping it over his head. She cradled the pendant in the cup of both her palms, pressing it to her heart, heaving a sigh of relief.

“When I realized this was gone, when I felt its power used by someone else...” 

She turned her icy green eyes on Merlin. “I warned you. I warned you, and still you do something like this? Oh, you are a gambler, but you will lose. And you will pay. I'll see to that.” The calm vicious certainty in her voice made him cold. He pushed himself off the bed and got to his feet, facing her. He didn't want her to have the continued advantage of looming over him.

“Not such an innocent and inexperienced goody two-shoes after all, are you?” She laughed bitterly, a note of hysteria in her voice. “A mage! A mage, and I didn't believe it. I didn't want to heed her warnings, and here you are, making your moves on my brother! Ingratiating yourself with your big blue eyes, behaving like a lost little lovestruck puppy!Well, you'll find out what that act earns you in the end, you... “

“Morgana,” Arthur said, placing a hand on her arm. “This is between you and me. Leave Merlin out of it!” 

He glanced at Merlin and jerked his head once in the direction of the door. 

Merlin didn't move. 

Morgana laughed again, shaking Arthur's hand off. “He has stepped right into this with open and glowing eyes, brother dear, and you needn't tell me he didn't know the stakes.” Sweeping her wildly flowing hair to the side, she placed the golden chain back around her own neck, the pendant blazing before it disappeared behind the folds of Morgana's loose silken robe. She exhaled sharply. “Now I can at least breathe again.”

Arthur turned to Merlin, the worry plain in his flushed face. “Merlin, leave us. Morgana and I have to speak in private.” 

Merlin looked at him, uncertain about what he should do. Morgana might be dangerous in her anger and despair, a threat to them both in so many ways. He shuffled his feet. 

“Oh, let him stay and learn what a _prince_ you are!” Morgana laughed mirthlessly. “The puppy doesn't want to go, of course, not now when he came so close to securing your devotion and binding you to him. He must think you such a juicy bone.” 

Arthur sighed. “There's no need to be crude.”

“But there's every need to act crudely, is there? To let him seduce you? Here! And on our bed! Have you no self-control, Arthur? Is the promise you made me so easily broken? For shame!”

“He didn't, as you say, seduce me. It was all my doing, if you need someone to blame. There are forces at work here that I couldn't control and couldn't resist in the end, though I have honestly tried. It doesn't make me proud.” 

Arthur squared his shoulders, looking her full in the face. “Morgana, perhaps this is a blessing in disguise. I love you, and I always will. You and me, it's always been us, together against the world. We've supported each other through disappointments and worries. But what we've been doing hasn't been healthy, it hasn't been right. There's a darkness growing around us. It's been draining you, harming you, making you ill. And I am feeling increasingly hollow after every painting. It's a battle not only to create, but to stay sane! It's destructive, can't you see? I've turned a blind eye to that for far too long because of my ambitions, my hopes that art born of Light would help bring prosperity and joy back to Camelot. For that I truly am ashamed now. But no more.”

Merlin looked back and forth between them. While Arthur was speaking, Morgana's face slowly turned into a stiff mask of anguish, her eyes huge in her pale face. There was a red-golden glow deep inside them, embers of terror and madness ready to burst into flame. 

“So that is it? You used me until I was nothing much more than an empty husk, and then found a fresh source of Light to tap? What happened to the brother I loved, who was noble and strong and ready to act on our convictions and our hopes, rules and risks be damned?”

“Morgana...”

“I trusted you, I always did. I loved you! I was so sure you'd be the one to help me channel my Light for good. I've clung to that through illness and despair. One day we'd get it right, one day very soon, and then.... then I'd be free and strong and happy. You who know me to the core, I couldn't believe....” 

She blinked rapidly, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears and brimming with a light of their own now, the fire of a volcano on the brink of eruption. But her voice was small and tired. “You used me. You used me just like Uther used mother, and now you're throwing me away like a worn-out shoe, a broken jar, now that I'm near to exhaustion. You truly are your father's son after all, Arthur Pendragon!”

Arthur winced, but stood his ground, facing her. “And you are his daughter!” 

He drew a breath and continued, his tone calmer but his words relentless. “I'm not throwing you away. Never. We must stand together, and I'll support you in every way that I can. I wanted us to belong together, too. But it hasn't been working, and I think you know it. The inspiration your Light gave me has been strong, but it didn't make us stronger together, didn't unite us and make us whole and one. It has distorted and corroded all that we had. It's wearing me down, and it'll be the end of you, Morgana. Your migraines and nightmares are harbingers of worse to come, I see that now. We have to stop.”

Morgana's eyes turned to narrow slits. “Well and good for you, Lord Famous Artist! You wait until you've found yourself a fresh source of Light, you even rob me of my mother's diamond to tap it, and _then_ you tell me we need to stop - for my own good! In order to save _me_! Oh, that is rich! You're such a selfish, two-faced, disloyal...... but see if I'll stand meekly by and let you celebrate your new-found inspiration! See if I'll just step aside and face my sad fate on my own. See – and think again!”

All of a sudden her eyes turned full force on Merlin, and now they glowed with the heat of furnaces. “I'm not going down alone!” 

With shrill laughter she lifted her hands, her fingers like claws reaching out towards him. Glaring lights sprang up all around them. Lightning crackled. Merlin felt a jolt like a giant fist of pure heat punching him in the gut. He doubled over, gasping. The pain tearing through him was blinding in its intensity. He tried to marshal his own flagging strength, fumbling for leverage, reaching out wildly for his own untried Light to come to his defence. But everything both inside him and out was reeling, screaming, searing him with fire. There was nothing he could hold on to, no means for him to fight back. 

He fell to the floor, curling in on himself, pain piercing his mind. His limbs convulsed with every new pulse and stab of Morgana's raging Light. 

Flashes of flame hit the floor around him, leaving scorch-marks on the wooden planks. Every reflective surface in the room blazed with fire. The chandelier was breaking apart, its cut-glass prisms cracking and spraying the floor with slivers of glass. The whole room seemed to be shaking.

“Morgana! Stop this, or take it out on me!” Arthur threw himself at her, restraining her arms and fighting her. The lightning flared around him mercilessly, and he screamed, but held on. “I won't let you do this, stop!”

Lights were flashing wildly, a whirlwind of fire and broken glass gaining in power around the three of them. Arthur held on, squeezing Morgana to his chest even as flames licked his face and body. “Morgana!” 

All at once the storm abated. The lightning ceased, the floors stopped trembling, and the burning pains subsided. Merlin drew a shallow gulp of air. 

Morgana started sobbing in despair, shivering violently in Arthur's arms. “You were my only hope, Arthur! You were my promise of a future, and now I'm lost! ” The light dimmed, still pulsing through the room but not threatening to rip it apart any more. “Lost! The Light will kill me. Oh, gods! It's happening already!” 

“Merlin, if you're well enough to walk, leave us. That's an order,” Arthur said sternly. He was bleeding from several cuts and looked deeply shaken. “Morgana and I need time alone to sort this out. I'll see you later. Leave!”

 

**19\. Fire fought with fire**

Merlin never knew how he managed to cross the floor and leave the room, but soon he was standing outside, legs trembling and heart racing, his back against the massive studio door. He drew a hand across his mouth and cheeks, coming away with thin stripes of blood. Glass shards had sliced his skin just like Morgana and Arthur's words and actions had cut into his heart. 

His shaking hand sought the cord and medallion around his neck, but came away empty. Merlin's breath hitched and he righted himself. If ever he needed his dragon guardian, surely now was the time for it.

Laboriously he descended the many stairs to his room and brought Kilgharrah out, holding the dragon reverently between the palms of his two hands and rubbing the medallion. “I needed you!”

With a sigh he pulled his blood-stained tunic over his head. The threadbare fabric had been sliced right through in several places. Merlin dropped it on the floor and went to find his spare one.

He poured cold water in his wash basin and wiped his face, neck and hands. The water he wrung from the cloth came away red, but he felt refreshed. 

The medallion dangled against Merlin's chest again where the dragon belonged, making him feel safe and protected. 

Merlin scrubbed his fists through his hair, rubbing at his scalp, trying to think, to understand all that had happened and all that he'd heard tonight. The diamond, the kiss, his uncontrollable yearnings for more, the warring sensations, the truth about Arthur and Morgana's unsettling relationship. He sighed, defeated. It was too much to take in. 

He was dead tired and nauseous, almost reeling as he got to his feet again. But he couldn't go to bed knowing that those two were up in the studio together. 

Uncertain about what to do, Merlin slowly crept back up the stairs, a flickering candle in hand. Everything was silent. The door to the studio remained closed. He stood for a moment looking at it, then sat down on the top step, leaning wearily back on his elbows. His eyes closed of their own volition. 

What was happening behind the closed door? He could be losing Arthur in this very moment, if Morgana's hold on her brother proved to be too strong, and he decided to stand by her. The thought stabbed at Merlin's heart and made his breath seize. 

Suddenly there was a slight touch across his calves, and he jumped, his pulse picking up speed. Something black and white and furry was weaving around his legs, large eyes glowing as they looked at him in the dimness. 

“Morgause! Are you here again?” He reached on reflex to stroke the cat's soft fur, and petted her as she rubbed up against him, purring. “I thought for sure you had given up on this scary place.”

After a moment's hesitation he lifted her, half expecting her to hiss and run away after the disastrous last time he held her. But she settled in his lap, her front paws' claws soon contentedly kneading the fabric of his breeches. He smiled despite himself. “Good girl. You're lonely too, aren't you? Kitty, kitty....” There was something comforting about the cat's presence, - her soft warm fur, her low purring, the sharp regular pinpricks of her claws against his skin. 

There was no sound from behind the thick oak door of the studio, but then again, only very loud noises would penetrate to the other side. Merlin was left in the dark in every sense.

He scratched Morgause's neck and rubbed behind her ears, humming softly to her, mostly to calm himself. 

Suddenly his fingertips encountered something unexpected. Morgause was wearing a thin collar, hidden by her fur. Tracing the fine leather with a finger, he encountered metal. A small cylinder was fastened to the collar. 

He remembered Morgana with the cat on the night that she left the house. She was reading something then. He continued to scratch Morgause with one hand while examining the cylinder with his other. There! A tiny lid popped open, and a small scrap of parchment fell into his hand. 

“Kitty, kitty....good cat...” He unrolled the slip and bent his head to look at the writing on it. The letters meant nothing to him. 

He sat for a while, lost in thought. Then he picked up Morgause, blew out the candle, and walked on silent feet down the stairs back to his own room. Closing the door against the darkness in the corridor outside, he went to his storage chest and found the note that Gaius had given him to be used in a time of danger and at need. _'Come to me'._ Carefully rolling it to fit in the cat's tiny message container, he pushed the note inside, closed the lid, and carried Morgause up to the side entrance. She was obviously beginning to dislike being trapped by his arms, and wasn't purring any more. She meowed.

“Hush, hush, sweetie. Not long now....” 

He unlocked the door and peeked outside. Everything was quiet. He tip-toed to the corner of the building. The moon was up. Even with a few scattered clouds in the sky there was enough light to see by. Merlin didn't see anything moving out on the large plaza, where long night shadows now veiled the knight's statue and the trees down by the canal. There were distant shouts from the city, horse hooves clip-clopping on flagstones far away, and a hunting owl hooting eerily across the quiet canal waters. The air was still and smelled fresh, as if rain had washed everything clean.

Merlin bit his lip, drew a breath and set Morgause down, nudging her with his foot. “Shoo, now. Go find your other mistress, cat. Go, go!” 

Morgause looked back at him inscrutably, shook herself and sat down on the flagstone by the corner. Merlin's heart fell. He step towards her, his whisper close to a hiss. “Go for Morgana's sake, if not for mine. Be off!” 

Morgause waited a moment more, then got to her feet and ran across the plaza towards the canal without a backward glance, a sleek moonlit shadow among shadows, soon swallowed by night. 

Merlin's heart was thumping, each heartbeat loud in his own ears. Now for it! 

Briefly clutching Kilgharrah in his sweaty palm, he backed up to push the door completely shut. He walked over to the bronze knight on his horse and crouched down between the statue's base and the wall. 

Something crackled and tinkled on the ground under his boots and knees. Looking closer, he realized it was small shards of coloured glass. Merlin looked up in dismay. The great hall's windows! It was too dark to see the beautiful stained glass artworks properly. Clearly they had been damaged by Morgana's violent fire-storm, but only daylight would reveal the full extent of the damage. 

Merlin wondered whether he'd even get to see that next daylight breaking. He set his jaw and turned his attention back towards the plaza again, all senses on high alert. 

For a while all was quiet, and he felt a headache building. It had been a long day, more eventful and more taxing than any other day in his life. His mind and body both craved rest. 

But there... there! Something was moving at the edge of his vision, coming closer. Slow and quiet steps, a broad dark shape moving along the mansion towards him! Merlin tensed, getting ready to move, gathering his strength. He squinted, trying to make sense of who or what was approaching, then exhaled and bit back a nervous laugh. 

It was Gwen and Lancelot, walking so close together that they looked like one being. Lance had his arm firmly around Gwen's shoulders, and even though they continued walking, they were looking into each others' eyes, finding their way forward on instinct. 

If the circumstances had been different, Merlin would have made sure to tuck away a few observations to tease Gwen with later. Coming home at this hour of the night, courting in the moonlight, clearly too besotted to be able to walk straight! But now he just peeked at the two with a mixture of worry and envy. 

They didn't notice him, but stopped by the statue and embraced. He glanced across the plaza. A cloud slid across the moon, and for a moment it was very dark. When the cloud drifted away, Gwen and Lancelot were kissing. 

Slow, tender nips and low whispered endearments, happy sighs and sweet laughter. Merlin lowered his eyes and crept further back into the shadows. This was what love looked like, and he was truly happy for Gwen. This was what he hoped to experience himself, if fate would be kind. But it could not be, not until... 

He scanned the plaza. Still no-one else to be seen. The moonlit night was undisturbed. He wondered whether he might have been mistaken.

Eventually the lovers moved towards the entrance, their murmured conversation too low for Merlin to hear. There was a somewhat louder exclamation – Gwen must have discovered the unlocked door – and then everything was quiet. Lancelot did not re-appear. Likely he had followed Gwen inside, maybe looking to protect her from possible intruders. Ever the knight in shining armour, Merlin thought wryly. Although on this night, with the state those two were in, maybe Lancelot was rather looking to get out of his armour? Having just experienced the frantic urges of passion himself, Merlin couldn't blame them. Love was a force to bring the strongest man down off his high horse. 

Then suddenly there she was. He sensed her approach just before she stepped out of the shadows. A tall, slim woman, wreathed in a sweeping midnight-blue cloak, walking purposefully up towards the house from the canal. She stopped out on the flagstones in front of the grand stairs, tilting her face upwards, studying the front of the mansion. Merlin could see her profile clearly in the moonlight. A beautiful woman, strangely ageless, her expression and posture a disquieting mixture of rage and patience.

He drew a breath and rose to his feet, stepping out into the open from behind the statue, facing her with his head held high. Kilgharrah rested hot against the skin over his heart.

“Stop! You will not continue your schemes!” 

She turned towards him, seemingly unshaken, looking him up and down, a small smile playing on her lips. “You must be Merlin?” 

He didn't respond. Though she stood placidly enough, waves of menace and madness washed across him in the night, confirming her identity beyond any doubt. 

She laughed, the slow, tinkling sound of glass shards dropping on a stone floor. “I've heard about you.” 

“And I've heard about you, Lady Nimueh.” 

Merlin felt strangely calm all of a sudden. Not long now. Whatever the outcome of this confrontation, it would soon be over. 

Shaking her hood off her head, she swept the flowing fabric of the cloak back with a shrug of her shoulders. She wore her long dark hair in twisted curls and many small braids, and her skirt looked like it had been shredded into mere strips. In the pale moonlight the dress was the colour of drying blood. 

She smiled, slow and smug. “Who _hasn't_ heard of me? But most think me dead.” She shrugged. “You don't, you're different, and I know why. You have the Gift of Light, child. I sensed that a new force had entered this house, disrupting my plans and dispelling my Light. It had to be you. I warned Morgana, but I don't think she believed me. Now that I see you, I understand why. You're nothing but an untrained boy!”

Merlin didn't reply. He looked into her eyes, their colour the icy blue of winter's first frost, and waited. Fear and determination coiled tightly in his chest, heating his blood and his resolve. His whole body was tense and ready to spring. 

“Well, out of my way, country bumpkin. I do not have time for you.”

Merlin's voice grated on his own ears. “I won't let you pass, Lady Nimueh. Leave Lord Arthur alone, or I will bring you down.”

She laughed. “Stupid peasant, your devotion and your courage are in vain. Morgana has called me here, and so I come. You cannot stop me. ” Her eyes were not blue any more, they were golden - the red-gold of molten rock from the earth's core.

Merlin stood his ground. “Why are you doing this? You're harming Morgana too. Lord Uther is dead, your revenge cannot reach him.”

The lady shook her head at him. “Dead or alive makes no difference to me. I'll chase him through the next life, and the next, and the one after that. He will never know peace. I haven't had my revenge until House Pendragon is reduced to rubble, its name destroyed and forgotten, and all the family dead.” Her voice rose in intensity. “Dead!” she spat. 

Merlin shuddered. She was speaking with the venom of the truly insane. 

Nimueh chose her words with greater care when she continued. “I admit there is more to young Arthur than I had anticipated. He stood up to Uther about becoming a painter. He's withstood my attempts to make him surrender his will for far longer than I had expected, although I suppose that's partly due to Morgana's incompetence. Light channelled through my diamond should be irresistible. Arthur is strong, I see why he inspires loyalty. But your pathetic defence of him is futile. Now I will just have to crush you first, silly boy.”

“But Morgana is your daughter! She's inherited your Light! And your diamond is destroying her too!”

Lady Nimueh turned her inhuman eyes on him, mere slits now, full of hatred and fiery contempt. “My daughter, or Uther's daughter? If she is mine, she will survive. I did, despite every attempt to bring me down. If she has my strength, she will find her way. If she is Uther's daughter, then good riddance. She does not deserve life. It's up to her.”

The cruel truth about Morgana's relationship with her mother was dawning on Merlin. He knew that pleading would be in vain, but he couldn't help himself. “Morgana must be convinced that you care about her. She believes in you. And you have done nothing but trick her and torment her!”

Nimueh's hand sliced through the air in a cutting gesture. Her plaits and the strips of her skirt moved as if a strong wind was blowing. “Enough!” 

She turned her palm upward, and all of a sudden she was brandishing Light, lighting up the night like a bonfire. “This is the deal you have made for yourself, interfering with me and mine where you do not belong, peasant boy. Now feel the extent of my Gift.” She chuckled. “I doubt it will please you!” 

A huge bolt of fire shot towards Merlin. He reacted on instinct. Light flared behind his eyes as his hands came up to deflect the fireball, but he was too late. Nimueh's vicious wildfire made impact with the force and sound of a cannon-ball. Merlin was slammed backwards, flying through the air and landing hard on the ground. His breath was knocked out of him. Flames swept his body and licked the surrounding flagstones. He was at the centre of an inferno. He screamed. All he knew was excruciating, burning pain. 

Darkness intruded. He passed out. 

When he regained his senses, it was to the acrid smell of burnt flesh. His body hurt as if living flames were still devouring it, but he realized that darkness had returned. The fire was gone. 

He looked down over himself, and saw the black and gaping burned hole in his tunic. Glass and gemstones glittered untarnished among the charred remains of cloth. The fire-bolt had hit his medallion square on. Kilgharrah had protected him and prevented the fire from reaching his heart. His dragon guardian had saved his life.

He climbed awkwardly to his feet, dazed and hurting. Turning, he found that he could only have been unconscious for a brief moment. 

Nimueh was about to round the corner of the mansion. She was going to enter the house and to cause even more devastation and despair in the lives of the two remaining Pendragons.

Red-hot anger swelled in Merlin, pushing pain and weariness from his mind. 

He fished Kilgharrah from the blackened remains of his tunic and clasped his protector firmly in his fist, the dragon's heat alive against the sickly-cold sweat in his palm. He shivered. 

It was time to bring Nimueh down, to finish what the Light had begun long ago in claiming her sanity and in burning every last ounce of empathy and compassion out of her.

And yet, he could not make himself attack her from behind. He called out one single word, his voice raspy from the fire. “Nimueh!” 

She turned, a look of surprise crossing her pale features, her right hand coming up to ward him off. 

Merlin didn't hesitate. He turned his eyes skyward, feeling their heat, knowing they had turned golden. Holding Kilgharrah aloft he called on his Light with all his strength, reached out to the elements and directed a blindingly bright bolt of fire down upon her. 

The flash of lightning singed the air and crackled with power as it hit her full force, obliterating her completely.

The blast forced Merlin backwards. He barely managed to remain on his feet. Spots of residual light danced across his vision, and for a moment he could see nothing. Then little by little his sight returned. The night was tranquil and dark once more, and the weak moonlight showed him nothing but a large spot of soot flakes on the flagstones. 

Nimueh du Lac had found her match where she least expected it, and so met her end.

She was gone. Gone. She could not torment Arthur any more, could not lure Morgana with cynical and cruel deceit. Whatever the fates had in store for those two, Nimueh would not now be the one shaping their future. 

Merlin's hands dropped weakly to his sides, and he sank down on his knees in the square, his limbs shaking. 

The Gift of Light had made him dangerous. It had just made him a killer. The power he had commanded seemed limitless. 

Tears rose in his eyes, and he let them flow freely, heavy drops rolling down his cheeks and neck and mingling with the soot and grit and gore from the night's many trials. He was bloody, burned and bruised, his stomach was in revolt, and his breath came in frantic and shallow gulps. It was all too much for one body and one mind to take. He fell forward, curling up on the cold dark stones, and knew no more.

 

**20\. Aftermath**

Merlin was still unconscious when Lancelot found him. 

Lancelot stumbled across his inert body on the ground in the early morning hours, on his belated way back to town, and hurriedly carried Merlin inside. While Gwen looked after Merlin and tended to his cuts and burns as best she could, Lancelot rushed to fetch Gaius.

Over the next few days and nights either Gwen or Gaius was always at Merlin's bedside as he wandered in feverish dreams, battling monsters in the dark, his sleeping mind slowly coming to terms with his powers of Light, his body fighting to overcome the trauma it had endured. 

He woke up at last to someone supporting his back and neck, carefully tipping water into his mouth. He spluttered, coughed, and opened his eyes. 

Gaius smiled at him in pure relief, his tired face beaming. “Welcome back, Merlin! How do you feel?”

Merlin stretched and blinked, tentatively testing his arms and legs. “I hurt. I'm exhausted. What happened?”

“You've taken a beating that would down a dragon, young man.” Carefully Gaius helped Merlin into an upright position, fluffing the pillows behind his back. “Can you hold the cup and drink on your own? We need to get fluids into you, and the more, the better. It helps speed the healing of the burns. I have added pain relief herbs to the brew as well.”

Merlin's eyes widened as he remembered that night. Nimueh, the fight, the lightning.... His hand instinctively went to his chest, and found Kilgharrah where the dragon belonged, suspended from its cord, on top of his bandaged chest. He smiled, and gulped down the cool and fragrant contents of the cup. 

“This is good.” He thought for a moment. “How long have I been out?”

“Four full days, my boy.”

Merlin stared at him. “Oh...”

Gaius placed a careful hand on his brow, checking his temperature for a moment, then sat back with a contented nod. “The worst is over, you're on the mend now. Fortunately you are much stronger than you look.”

“Lord Arthur? How is he? Is he well? And... the Lady Morgana?” 

Gaius shook his head. “All in good time, Merlin. I'll let Arthur tell you himself. He's asked to be notified at soon as you wake up. I'll call for him shortly. He's been extremely worried, looking in here many times a day.” Gaius paused for a moment, meeting Merlin's eyes and speaking slowly and carefully as he continued. “The sudden summer storm and the lightning strike that apparently hit you did considerable damage to the mansion. Several stained glass windows are cracked or broken, and I understand certain rooms were left in chaos. The foul airs that follow such storms infected Lady Morgana. She's been abed with her worst migraines yet. I have been going back and forth between the two of you. It makes my apothecary's heart happy that you both now are on the mend.”

“Oh,” Merlin said again, blinking to clear his mind. “I see.”

He lay back and closed his eyes, already weary, letting Gaius's words sink in. Arthur and Morgana were both safe. That was the most important part. And no-one knew of his own Gift of Light. For all that the wide world knew, everything was due to a storm and a lightning strike. 

He could have grinned with gratitude if he wasn't too tired. He would have time to decide on his course in life. Only if he himself decided to tell would anyone learn of Nimueh's fate. And no irate Lords of the city would be coming for him, red-cloaked guards in tow, to throw him on the pyre. 

Merlin fell asleep with a small smile on his lips. And sleep is the best of all healers.

The next time he woke, Arthur was sitting by his bedside, leaning against the wall, his eyes closed. Several candles were burning on the bedside table. 

Merlin lay quietly for a little while, studying Arthur in the flickering light. He was unusually pale and he looked weary, with dark circles under his eyes. There were a few half-healed cuts across his cheek. But his chest was rising and falling evenly, and his artist's hands with their long, graceful fingers were resting easily in his lap. 

Merlin felt joy blossoming in his heart. This sight was his reward for facing Nimueh. He had done the right thing.

Without warning Arthur's eyes opened, and met Merlin's. He sat upright, a sudden and happy smile on his face. “Merlin! Gaius told me you would be all right, but I could hardly believe it!” He reached out and took both Merlin's hands in his, pressing them gently. 

Merlin grinned weakly at him. “Yes, I will soon be well! But what about you?”

Arthur kept on holding his hands, his thumbs tenderly rubbing the skin near Merlin's wrists. 

“I am fine, Merlin. My wounds and burns were minor, they are mostly mended already. Nothing like you. I can't imagine what it must have been like, being struck by lightning after all that you'd already suffered at Morgana's hands... If that is truly what happened?” 

Merlin hesitated. He had delayed thinking this through, and now he made his decision in the blink of an eye. 

“Truly, it is. I don't think... it wasn't Lady Morgana's doing. The lightning came later in the night. Maybe...maybe her use of so much Light called a thunderstorm into being, and once the clouds had formed they had to run their course and spend their anger?” 

He closed his eyes and sighed, exhausted. He was not up to lying convincingly, not when his mind was still so tired and muddled. 

“Maybe,” Arthur said. “I do not know much about such matters. Although it is true I have known about Morgana's Gift of Light since we were both very young, I have never seen or felt anything like this before.”

Arthur sat in silence for some time, all the while holding Merlin's hands. It wasn't until Merlin opened his eyes and looked at him that Arthur continued, speaking hesitantly. 

“Morgana and I.... we tried to help each other, you see? Knowing her the way I do, I could not make myself believe that the Gift of Light in itself makes a mage evil. But it became too overwhelming and increasingly impossible to control. I watched what was happening to Morgana, trying to help her, to form a bond that might save her. I don't think I had much luck. It made me moody. Lately it's been very difficult for me to control my temper.” 

Arthur looked up, seeking Merlin's eyes. “You.... you have the Gift too. Morgana says so, and I know it is true. I felt the power, the irresistible force pulling me to you, I saw the diamond blazing in your hand and the gold in your eyes.” He drew a breath. “I worry for you.” 

“I didn't really know,” Merlin said quietly. “I was afraid to face it. I didn't know for sure until you asked me to be your model. It was the diamond pendant, it called to my Light and it took control. It was too strong. Arthur, that thing is _dangerous_. It has a will of its own!”

“Morgana always used it to focus her Light and to share her Gift. But looking back on everything that's happened, you may be right. It was the only thing Morgana inherited from her mother, and because of that she cherished it.” Arthur shrugged, moving in his seat, uncomfortable. “By all accounts Lady Nimueh was unstable and malevolent. Although she herself died long ago, perhaps her evil survived within the diamond? It seems possible. But I do know without a doubt that the diamond will harm us no more. On the night that you were struck by lightning, it suddenly blazed with the light of many suns, and then exploded into fine dust.”

“It's gone?”

“It is gone forever,” Arthur confirmed. “Morgana was distraught. It was the final straw. She's been bedridden since that happened, crying most of the time when she's awake. She's doing poorly, and I do not know how to help her. Gaius is doing what he can. And Gwen is constantly at her side.”

“The diamond is no more,” Merlin mused. He felt an unwelcome sting of disappointment, quickly assuaged by a flood of relief. Nimueh's legacy would be much easier to manage with the dangerous pendant destroyed. 

“I... I hope Morgana gets better soon,” he whispered. “I bear her no ill will.”

Arthur's eyes widened, and his lips parted in a surprised gasp. “Truly?”

“Truly.” Merlin was unable to keep his eyes open. He sank back onto the pillows. 

“Sleep now,” Arthur murmured close to his ear. “Sleep well and mend, love, and we will talk more and make plans when you're stronger.”

Merlin wondered whether his ears were playing tricks on him, but then he felt Arthur's lips, soft and warm, ghosting across his cheek and for the briefest of moments pressing gently against his own. 

The glorious feeling of the endearment and the kiss followed him into happy and healing dreams. 

 

**21\. Moving forward**

Arthur visited Merlin every day while he was still in bed. 

As if by tacit and mutual agreement they didn't return to the difficult topic of the Gift of Light while Merlin was still weak. Instead they would talk of pleasant things. Merlin would tell Arthur about Ealdor, his parents, and the herb garden. He described the mosaic workshop with its never-ending variety of tesserae made from glossy ceramic, glass and semi-precious stones. Arthur would talk of his art and what it meant to him, his ambitions for the future, and how he had developed his skills. At other times they would just sit quietly together, or Merlin would rest while Arthur brought out his parchment and charcoal pencils to make sketch upon sketch of Merlin's resting form, his quiet face, his relaxed little smile, the half-open hand lying peacefully on top of the blanket. 

And they would kiss. Each day before Arthur left he would sit down on the bedside, and Merlin would draw close, both of them careful not to distress Merlin' healing wounds. Every day Merlin would learn more about the joy of lips on lips, slow and sweet, the smooth silky sensation of tongue meeting tongue, passionate and hungry. He had never imagined such bliss and such intimacy could be found just in kisses and tender caresses. And yet, for each day that went by, he increasingly longed for more than mere kisses.... 

Once, as Arthur's hand slid behind Merlin's neck to hold him close, his fingers snagged on the leather cord. Questing down its length to find the dragon medallion, Arthur slowly pulled Kilgharrah forth from Merlin's nightshirt. 

“May I see?”

Merlin felt as if he was handing over a part of himself as he slowly slipped the cord over his head and placed the medallion in Arthur's hand. But he felt comfortable doing it. 

Arthur studied it carefully by the light of the oil lamp he'd brought down. “This is beautiful, and crafted with immense skill. Did your father make this?”

“Yes,” Merlin whispered, looking away. “He made it right after I was born. It's been with me always. My dragon protector.” 

Arthur traced the glittering mosaic with a gentle finger. 

“Kilgharrah,” Merlin murmured. “That's his name.”

“Kilgharrah,” Arthur repeated, his voice fond. “I think it's high time you had a more fitting chain for him. And a fine silk scarf for yourself, to replace that worn neckerchief. I'll see about that, if you agree.”

There was a flare of hot light from the medallion, and the glass and gems glittered as the dragon cartwheeled within its circle of fire. 

“It's heating up!” Arthur hurriedly reached out to Merlin, dropping Kilgharrah into his upturned palm. “Here! Does this have to do with your Gift then, like Morgana and her diamond?”

“Yes, and no. I don't think it's exactly the same,” Merlin said reluctantly, closing his fingers carefully around his protector. 

Arthur looked into his face and tactfully changed the subject. “Your father was a craftsman of the highest class. You obviously learned much from him over the years, and you have a natural instinct for colours, forms and images. I wonder... When you are well, I would like you to take up new duties. Most of the stained glass windows in the hall cracked on the night of... that night, and a few are completely broken. I would like you to see to repairing them. I know how much you admire them. I know you would go to that task with respect and love. If you think you can manage yourself, with the skills your father taught you, that is fine. If we need to hire a glass artisan, I would still like you to supervise the work.” 

Merlin's eyes went wide. He was speechless. 

Arthur smiled. “What do you think? Your eyes are shining. I take it that's a 'yes'?”

“Yes, I say yes!” Merlin felt a flush of excitement creeping across his cheeks. He could hardly believe it. He would work with glass mosaics after all!

Arthur took his hand. “That's settled, then. Now won't you come with me, and move closer to the hall, to a room with proper daylight? I am sure Gaius would approve.” He hesitated. “Or you can sleep in my room. I could take the couch.” 

“No, thank you,” Merlin said. “I feel more comfortable down here for now, in my own place with lamps and candles, and where I do not have to see Lady Morgana.”

“Of course. I understand,” Arthur nodded. “But Morgana won't be here much longer. She's moving out as soon as she's well enough, to stay with.... an acquaintance. Ostensibly she'll stay with his widowed sister, apparently a proper but rather unpleasant woman. Morgana says she will manage, and we both think it's for the best. She needs to make a new beginning. Like I am doing,” Arthur smiled, and reached out to ruffle Merlin's hair tenderly. “Though Morgana could never be this lucky.”

Merlin closed his eyes. He was learning a thing or two about happiness in these hours alone with Arthur.

He was improving every day, and with Gaius's approval he started moving around the lower floors, climbing the stairs to the kitchen to eat his meals with Gwen as before. Cook and Gwen were both delighted to have him back in the kitchen, and fed him delicacies as well as good, solid meals. Merlin sometimes felt as if he would burst at the seams. But his wounds healed, and his burns faded under Gaius's skilled hands and cooling salves.

Gwen couldn't talk about Lancelot without beaming the smile of the truly besotted. Merlin recognized the feeling and grinned right along with her. She also told him that she would be moving with Morgana, to 'stay with an artist friend of hers, because she needs a change of scenery', Gwen quoted Morgana. “My lady has been nothing but kind and good to me, I have to follow her where she goes. You do understand, don't you, Merlin?”

He assured her that he would have done the same, and once more wondered whether Gwen knew about Morgana's Gift and the darkness it could bring. If she didn't know, ought he to warn her? He decided to let it rest, at least for the time being. Some questions come without proper answers, and not all mysteries need be solved. But there was something that he _would_ like an answer to. “Gwen, what happened to the cat, Morgause? I haven't seen her here for a good while, I think.”

Gwen shook her head, her curls bouncing under her linen cap. “We do not know. She just disappeared, around that terrible day of the lightning strikes. Maybe the storm scared her away? Or maybe she got hit by lightning too? Cook is sad. She was fond of Morgause.”

“I know. Well, she may yet return. Stranger things have happened,” Merlin said neutrally. 

It was time for his afternoon nap. Just as he left the kitchen to go to his room, Morgana came down the stair from the first floor. They stopped short, eyeing each other warily. 

“Merlin,” Morgana said. “I hear that you are better.” 

“My lady. Yes, I am.”

“You may perhaps have heard that I am leaving to live elsewhere?”

Merlin looked at her. She was gaunt and pale, the bodice of her dress not nearly as snug as the last time he saw it. But she held herself proudly, and though she looked tense, she was calm. 

“Yes, my lady.” Merlin met her eyes, encountering a carefully cultivated blank expression. Morgana clearly was not planning to give away her hopes or her fears. 

Merlin's eyes widened as he noticed the golden chain around her neck. But though the chain was still her old one, the pendant it carried was new: a delicate golden circle enclosing an enamelled white bird, taking flight with a spray of forget-me-nots in its beak. The flowers were made from tiny blue sapphires, and a shimmering pale-blue moonstone had been mounted to form the bird's breast. 

Morgana followed his gaze. Her hand instinctively sought the pendant, shielding it in her hand. She quirked a derisive eyebrow at Merlin.

“A recent gift from Arthur,” she said. “It was his mother's. He hopes it will help me channel my Light. He's such a darling, is he not?” 

Her bleak smirk died on her lips when Merlin met her stare for stare, refusing to rise to her taunt. She shrugged.

“Well, goodbye,” she said.

“Good luck, my lady.”

For a moment Morgana's stiff and neutral mask gave way to reveal emotion - sadness and despair. She drew a sharp breath, and nodded once. “Yes,” she said. “Good luck to you too.” She gathered the purple silks of her flowing skirt and walked on past Merlin with her head held high. “You will need it.”

The scent of lily-of-the-valley drifted on the air behind her. It tickled his nose. Beautiful, poisonous and thriving in the shade, Merlin thought. Morgana had chosen a perfume that fit her.

 

**22\. At last**

A few days later Merlin was in the great hall, studying the settings of the dragon mosaic with a critical eye, pondering the new glass insets he wanted to have put in place of the broken ones. He was envisioning something more intricate in several of the fields, many smaller multicoloured insets, like a glossy hide of bright gems on the dragon's wings. If those changes happened to make the dragon look like a cross between Kilgharrah and the Pendragon crest, Merlin felt sure that Arthur would not object. 

He heard the sound of a carriage approaching and walked over to look outside through one of the windows where glass was still missing. 

The carriage halted in front of the mansion, and the driver got down from his seat, opened the door, and went to stand by his horses, calming the nearest one with a few pats on the neck. Merlin heard a door opening, and there was Morgana, swathed in a cloak and with the hood up. Gwen trailed in her wake, carrying several large canvas bags and a box, and Arthur served as the rearguard, bringing out a big travelling case. 

Morgana looked neither left nor right, and she didn't turn to look back at the place that had been her home all her life. She quickly settled herself in the carriage, face hidden in the shadow of her hood, while the driver helped Gwen and Arthur lash the luggage to the carriage's rack. Arthur was saying something to Gwen, giving her a hand as she climbed into the carriage. Next he stuck his head briefly inside to speak with Morgana, and then he stepped back, closing the door. The driver saluted Arthur, mounted to his seat and grasped the reins. 

Merlin watched the carriage as it moved away at a brisk pace along the canal. He had known this would be the day, of course, but it felt like a watershed moment nevertheless. He glanced down towards the knight's statue and the lower part of the stairs again. Arthur was not there. He had to have returned inside already, and his whereabouts were immediately confirmed by the sound of hurried footfalls as he took the stairs two steps at the time. 

Merlin turned towards the door, trying – and failing – to keep a straight face. He was laughing when Arthur ripped the door open. 

“Why in such a terrible hurry, my lord?”

Arthur stopped inside the door, looking sheepish. “You know why, dragon boy. Morgana has moved out, and we are completely alone. _Now_ will you do me the favour of moving up into the light and away from your dark little den?” 

Merlin grew serious, his heart giving a painful thump. He turned away, tracing the stained glass dragon with a slow finger. All merriment was gone from his voice. “I am not sure. I like it there. It's... our place. The walls there do not keep the secrets and memories of others. There are no ghosts.” 

His paused for a moment, reflecting. “I do not mind that it is quite dark there. Where we are together, there will always be sunshine to me.”

Arthur sighed, moving closer, placing his hands gently on Merlin's hips and resting his chin on Merlin's shoulder . “Oh, Merlin. You are so young. And for all that has happened to you here, you have still seen so little of the world. Maybe this is wrong of me...maybe Morgana is right, that I'm taking advantage of you purely for selfish reasons.”

With a jolt Merlin turned to face him, still with Arthur's hands holding on to him, looking him straight in the eye. “You aren't taking advantage! Never think so! As soon as I saw you, as soon as our eyes met, a force like lightning went through me and all but knocked me out. Don't you remember? I think that was my Light, telling me that you are the One. I think my Gift recognized you at once. I didn't understand then, but now I do.” 

Merlin reached to take Arthur's hands in his, and lifted one to his lips, placing a small kiss on the blue paint stain across his knuckles. 

“There's no reason to wait,” he said. “I trust you.”

Reaching up he drew Arthur into a tight embrace, hiding his face against a broad shoulder. The words wanted to be said. “I love you, Arthur,” he whispered. 

“Merlin,” Arthur sighed. “Oh, Merlin.”

They stood locked in a their tight embrace, beating heart to beating heart, until Merlin drew a shuddering breath. Being this close to Arthur calmed his heart, but not his body. He was aroused, and he knew Arthur could feel it. Embarrassed and uncertain about how to behave, he awkwardly tried to lighten the mood, sliding his hand down Arthur's back to rest at the dip just above his buttocks. “And in addition you're incredibly handsome and desirable, my lord. I want you. And I want you to... I want you to be my first.” 

A shiver went through Arthur. He stepped back to look at Merlin, who ducked his head, blushing and surprised at his own audacity. 

“I do!” Merlin insisted. “And if you are the one that my Light wants me to bond with, the sooner, the better. The Gift is dangerous when it runs wild and free, we have both seen that. It makes me afraid. The future has been dark like a winter's night without stars. I hope... I think you are the one for me. I want to be sure.” 

Arthur swallowed. “Once more you're surprisingly eloquent,” he said, going for a smile, but it dropped from his lips. “I hope I am the one, too. I do not want you to suffer like.... others have suffered. I want you to be safe and whole and happy. I truly think you can inspire me to new heights. And young though you are, I do love you,” he ended gravely. 

Merlin's heart did a somersault in his chest, and the heat against his skin told him that Kilgharrah was on fire as well. “Well, in that case,” he said, pulling Arthur closer, “why should we wait? And I won't even insist on going downstairs. You make me so bold and carefree, your bed will do.”

For all his frank and forward talk, Merlin was uncertain and at a loss for words once they stepped across the threshold to Arthur's chambers. The large four-poster bed stood there as if waiting for them, heavy draperies pulled back invitingly, white and red sheets like the petals of lilies and roses. 

“Come here,” Arthur said, pulling him very close and holding him tight. He let Merlin feel how eager he was, rubbing against him gently. They kissed again, without restraint. Merlin sank into each kiss hungrily, dizzy with want and a glorious glow that spread through his entire body. 

He started pushing up against Arthur. He couldn't stop himself, it felt so good. 

Dragging Merlin along, Arthur moved backwards to the bed and sat down. He ripped his shirt over his head, pulled off his boots, and briefly stood to step out of his breeches. Merlin felt on fire from top to toe as he watched, and soon followed suit with shaking hands, ridding himself of his clothes in no time. His admiring eyes would not leave Arthur's beautiful body and his magnificently swelling cock. 

Crawling onto the bed and into Arthur's open arms, Merlin shuddered with want. His heart was beating like a drum in his chest, and his limbs would hardly follow the simplest order. All he knew and all he wanted were Arthur's touch and his kisses. 

After a while Arthur tore himself away from Merlin's eager lips, his eyes glazed, wiping a hand across his wet and swollen mouth. Drawing on a clearly tattered self-control he put a palm against Merlin's chest, keeping him at bay. “Gently, love,” he whispered. “Lie down, take deep breaths, relax. We have all day and all night if we need it, there's no need for this hurry.” 

He lifted himself up on one elbow and lovingly stroked Merlin's skin, sliding a calming hand up and down his flank, over an again, soothing them both with his slow caresses. 

“Your burns and cuts have mended well,” he said at length, wonder in his voice as he pushed Merlin's medallion aside. His fingertips explored the fading marks on Merlin's chest. “Soon all your pains will be no more than memories, and that will ease my mind.” 

He leaned in to place a soft kiss on Merlin's breastbone, nipping his way up to the dip right under the throat. “You're lovely,” he murmured. “I cannot wait to paint you like this, stretched out in passionate abandon, nude on red sheets.”

A new flush crept across Merlin's fair skin and heightened the colour in his cheeks at Arthur's words. The thought of being painted like that excited him. “Am I glowing now? It feels like I'm blazing with light, it's so good,” he gasped, eyes closing and lips parting to encourage more kisses. 

Arthur obliged him for a few tantalizing moments, before pulling back again with a surprised smile. “No, you aren't glowing, but your medallion is. Your guardian is on fire, look!” 

Merlin sat up, the crisp clean sheets sliding against every inch of his sensitive skin. He forgot to be self-conscious as he looked down at Kilgharrah with hazy eyes. “This is a good omen.” 

Arthur pulled him closer, offering himself for deep, slow kisses. “I think so too. You are my good omen, Merlin.”

Merlin felt like he was melting, dissolving in bliss. His world narrowed down to only this bed, their two bodies, the feel of Arthur's lips and tongue and his sure firm hand as he reached down to cup and stroke Merlin. Arthur's grip was gentle at first, but soon turned more insistent, and Merlin writhed against him, emitting joyful little grunts, his palms slippery with sweat against Arthur's chest and hips. 

Arthur leaned in for a final deep kiss before he carefully extricated himself from Merlin's wriggling limbs, ignoring the resulting yelp of protest. He moved to kneel between Merlin's legs, pushing them apart. “Tell me if I do something you do not want me to,” he breathed. “I only want to please you.”

Taking Merlin's cock in a firm grip again, he leaned forward, meeting Merlin's eyes as he pointedly licked his lips. Then he turned his attention downwards, bending down to kiss the tip of Merlin's cock, giving it a few wet licks before sucking as much as he could take into his mouth, sliding down to where his lips met his hand. 

Merlin arched up off the bed, limbs twitching. “Ah, ah, Arthur, oh... yes!” 

Arthur pulled nearly all the way off and sank down again, now placing both his hands on Merlin's hips to keep him steady and to stop him from moving. He started a rhythm of heat and suction, moving up and down, rubbing his tongue along Merlin's length as he sucked him in and released him, sucked him in and let go. 

Merlin whimpered. He already was on the brink. 

Arthur looked up, pulled hurriedly away with a last little loving lick, and cupped Merlin's balls with a warm hand. He watched with heated eyes as Merlin spent himself in a few strong spurts across his own abdomen and the sheets. 

Arthur pulled Merlin into his arms with a pleased little murmur and let him breathe, holding him close, skin against skin, sweat and seed, while letting him settle. Very soon Merlin was drifting on the edge of sleep, limbs splayed and spent, eyes blinking owlishly in Arthur's direction. “But Arthur, what about you? I should...”

Arthur leaned in to kiss his brow, shaking his head as he grasped Merlin's hand, guiding it down to his own long-neglected but determined erection. “Let's do it together, sleepyhead,” he murmured, fitting Merlin's fingers around his cock and taking both hand and cock in a strong grip, showing Merlin how to pleasure him the way he wanted it, with long, firm pulls.

The sight of Merlin's blissful face, the smell of his seed, the touch of his skin, the taste of his lips: Arthur would later admit to Merlin that the heady sensations from the first time they found release together always stayed fresh in his mind and inspired him as an artist.

The last thing Merlin vaguely remembered was being cleaned with quick swipes of a damp cloth, and the soft sheets being pulled across his cooling body. He sighed in happy gratitude, and fell asleep in Arthur's arms. It was still not fully dark outside. 

Perhaps Merlin woke in the dark of night, or perhaps it was just a dream. 

Arthur was sleeping soundly next to him, the two of them facing each other, curled up close in the stained and rumpled sheets. Kilgharrah was lodged in between their bodies, suspended on his new golden chain, and Merlin realized that the medallion was shining once more. He watched as the glow intensified, and suddenly a small fiery dragon rose on a beam of light, swiftly growing to a size that covered the whole bed. The elongated translucent body with its pointed tail and spiked wings was made from nothing but fire, lighting the darkness with an otherworldly brilliance. Merlin watched it all with calm surprise and wonder, but never even thought about fear. 

The dragon hovered in the air above them, its wings beating soundlessly as it sank down to place one front foot on Arthur's chest, and the other on Merlin's. The sharp claws caused no pain. A strong sensation of completeness, fulfilment and Light flowed from Merlin to Arthur through the dragon's body, and was returned tenfold. Merlin lay still, letting it happen, feeling the strength, revelling in the rightness, watching the wings of fire above. His body and mind were on the brink of sleep. His heart leaped with joy and gratitude. 

The dragon blinked out of existence as quickly as it had appeared, and in the darkness behind the bed-curtains Merlin at once sank into new and happy dreams, his one hand seeking Arthur's, his other curling protectively around Kilgharrah. 

It may have been no more than a particularly vivid dream, and the marks on his and Arthur's skin could easily be the result of their lovemaking the night before. But in his heart of hearts Merlin knew what had happened. He and Arthur had bonded that night, the two of them tied together by his Light, made ready to balance each other in every endeavour like two sides of the same coin. 

He no longer feared the future. It was full of Light and love.

 

**Epilogue**

….….and here we come to one of the true gems of this once-in-a-lifetime “Camelot Masters” exhibition. 

“Boy with a Diamond Pendant” is one of Arthur Pendragon's main works, acknowledged as a masterpiece of world art. It never ceases to fascinate new generations.

This is the first among a number of Pendragon's oil on canvas paintings featuring the young man Merlin who became his inspiration and also, it is rumoured, his life-long lover. Certainly many later paintings featuring Merlin are sensuous and extremely erotic both in subject matter, composition and the model's pose.

This very first known painting of Merlin is more restrained. It is deeply intimate, yet enigmatic. 

The boy turns to look directly into our eyes, and – or so we must assume - into the eyes of Arthur Pendragon the painter. Scholars have long debated what Merlin's expression here is meant to convey, with those wide liquid eyes, the tension in his facial features, the play of shadows and light across his skin and the slightly open, very sensual mouth. Is he pleading with the painter or with us, the viewers? Love, pain, loss, grief, doubt, regret and unrequited sexual longing have all been suggested as the main sentiments of the piece. 

The composition is equally arresting and open to interpretation. Dark and light planes and lines make the scene come alive and create tension and focus, despite there being no discernible background. The broad slanting ray of light across the boy's cheekbone bisects his face and creates one axis, while the light that his partially closed hand directs out of the frame creates another. The combination establishes a triangle shaped by rays of light, broken by the boy's tense and almost translucent hand. This composition makes the painting a study on the subject of light and how it enhances and enriches shapes and textures, contrasted with the effect of darkness and shadows. There seems to be no external source for the pendant's brilliant light, and we must assume that the diamond's brightness therefore is symbolic in nature, perhaps intended to illuminate the boy himself, or what he represented to the painter and his world. Pendragon is, after all, frequently dubbed the ultimate master of painted light in all its guises.

The diamond in itself is of considerable size and perfectly cut. Although Pendragon came from a noble family, they had fallen on hard times well before this painting was finished. It is therefore unlikely that they owned such a valuable item. We can only speculate how Pendragon came to be in possession of the magnificent gem, but there is strong evidence that the pendant must actually have been painted on the basis of a real piece of jewellery.

The main colour in the painting is the ethereal cornflower blue of the boy's eyes and tunic. The pigment used is Pendragon's favourite, ultramarine, and the colour in this case creates an impression of tranquillity, simplicity and purity. 

The eroticism that accompanied Merlin as a model may here be present in the two strands of the golden chain, which seem to be forming a subtly phallic shape, and which at any rate direct attention towards the boy's lap, outside the frame of the painting. 

Merlin was the model for several other paintings in this exhibition. His important role as source of inspiration for Pendragon is indisputable. We will return in greater detail to what is known about him, his life and his relationship with Pendragon in discussing these paintings. Information about Merlin is particularly relevant with respect to the later masterpiece 'Artist with Dragon Mosaic', which as you may be aware is known in popular culture by other – and cruder – names, inspired by the young man's obvious state of arousal. 

As a final curious piece of trivia about "Boy with a Diamond Pendant", technical examination of the painting has shown that it was subjected to extreme radiation at one point before the final finish was added. How and why this happened will likely remain a mystery.

Now let me direct you to the next painting. This landscape, a forest clearing featuring a nude dancing woman, is by Gwaine Orkney, another of the Camelot masters. He shot to fame slightly later than Arthur Pendragon, but for all intents and purposes they were contemporaries. Both contributed strongly to ushering in the golden age of Camelot, which encompassed not only art but the whole of society. In fact, it is believed that the dancing woman is none other than Orkney's wife and muse, Morgana, who was – believe it or not - Pendragon's sister. 

There are conflicting opinions as to how close the siblings and the brothers-in-law were, and certainly the tension between Pendragon and Orkney on the topic of painting techniques and appropriate painting motifs is well documented. The disagreements may possibly have extended to their private lives. After all, it was Morgana's son Mordred who in later years notoriously brought Pendragon's domination of the Camelot art scene to an end. 

If we look closer at Orkney's forest landscape, the elements of especial note are...........

THE END 

  
[](http://s244.photobucket.com/user/Gilli_ann/media/BWADPmosaic_zpsff06db0e.jpg.html)  


_Boy with a Diamond Pendant (detail)  
Mosaic available in the museum shop_

**Author's Note:**

> The fic does not take place in Vermeer's Delft, but in an AU city which, the way I have imagined it, is inspired by the Belgian city of Bruges with elements from show canon Camelot.
> 
> The fictional painting Woman with a Wine Jug is mainly inspired by Vermeer's painting Woman with a Water Jug.


End file.
